OTS3: The Draconian Orders
by shivakantha
Summary: Sequel to The Second Chance: The Gladers are now safely settled in Paradise for two years, but when their Berg crashes in a place that Thomas eerily finds familiar, they are forced to reconsider the assumption that their troubles, and the troubles of the world, are over.
1. Prologue

**Author's note:**

 **Sequel to The Second Chance [s/11419764]  
**

 **Only the Prologue in Bennett POV, rest of story will mostly be in Thomas POV, and, occassionally, in Teresa POV.**

He found himself staring into the dark brown eyes of his father figure. The eyes that beamed with pride whenever Bennett achieved something, found something new, said something smart. The eyes that consoled him, put him back on track whenever Bennett broke down in hopelessness or despair. The eyes between which the barrel of Bennett's rifle rested.

Anger coursed through his veins. _Betrayal_ coursed through his veins. Harvey had lied to him, told him they'd _both_ return to safety. Not just Bennett!

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Drake announced, a vicious, snake-like smile spread across his face. "This is Harvey Maldoon. The man who sold our secrets to Israel. The traitor. The enemy. And today, Bennett Turner, a young boy whose skills are well beyond his age, will eliminate this roach from the face of this planet."

The crowd cheered.

"It is highly unfortunate that our policy does not allow for capital punishment to those roaches who have been captured and brought to their fate by one as young as Bennett, for this roach deserves a much more cruel, painful death than what awaits him."

Harvey flashed Bennett a smile. One that said - _You know what to do, when I'm gone_. Bennett blinked back the unshed tears that stung at his eyes. The backups were in his pockets. The tracking systems, the codes, the communication device … Bennett had everything they needed to bring down the Order. To destroy Drake.

Memories flashed through Bennett's mind. Harvey had saved him when he was seven. Bennett had been alone, and deep within the Scorch. All his friends, dead from starvation or the crash. And then miraculously, he had found Harvey, who had given him a place to stay, taught him everything he knew, made Bennett whom he was now.

And now Bennett had to shoot him. Shoot him so he had Drake's trust, and could run away with the backups.

Bennett stole a glance at the monarch of Tunisia. If he wished, Bennett could kill Drake right now. But what good would that be? Perhaps Johannes would take his place, and Bennett would surely get caught. And the world would have no hope against Drake and his Order.

"–six … five … four … "

 _Don't do anything stupid when the time is right_ , Harvey had said.

" … three … two … "

"Do it," Harvey whispered quietly.

" … one."

And with his heart falling into a black abyss, Bennett pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter 1

Thomas woke up to a bright light filtering through the curtain. His first reaction was that he must have overslept, and then he remembered that it was December, right in the middle of summer. The Antarctic circle was only a few hundred miles South of Vaidehi.

He felt the soft blanket beneath him - he was yet to get used to the comfort of a thick mattress; he was still used to the thin mattresses of the Homestead, to the pleasant-smelling grass of the Glade, and to the dry sand of the Scorch, but not to the soft mattress of his home in Vaidehi. He had a larger home than many of his friends, thanks to the fact that both Thomas and Teresa were Cabinet Keepers. Part of him enjoyed sharing a house with Teresa, part of him still wished they could be back in the Homestead, sharing a room with Teresa, Newt, and Minho.

Teresa was curled in his arms, her chest rising and falling with even breaths. Thomas felt a smile tug at his lips. He gently leaned forward and planted a kiss on her head. Teresa stirred in her sleep, her body stiffened, and then she relaxed again.

"Get up," Thomas whispered, gently shaking her awake. "South Africa is due this week." Teresa's eyes fluttered open at that - their settlement was in the last phase of the ten-phased plan Thomas had charted out two years ago - world domination, or putting Cranks out of their misery. Ava Paige had placed a stamp of approval on their plan after some extensive research conducted by the former WICKED team to ensure the safety of the plan.

"What's the time?" Teresa murmured against his chest, her voice the same whispery, sweet, confident one he'd known and loved for years. Thomas glanced back at his convertible device, folded into a small phone. "Seven," he responded.

Teresa yawned, then brushed her lips against his. "Can't we stay for–"

The doorbell sounded, cutting her off. Sighing, Thomas swung his legs off the bed, then trotted lazily towards the door. It was Minho.

"What the shuck, Minho?" he asked, making no effort to hide the grogginess in his tone.

"'bout time you got up," Newt's voice sounded as the taller boy made his way to behind Minho - the red scar on his forehead showed more visibly than usual, and Thomas was hit by a wave of guilt - sure, Newt had asked him, begged him to shoot him in the head, but still … "Our turn with South Af–"

"I know that," Thomas interrupted. "But it seems you forgot that the Flat Trans leads to Boston, which is an hour behind us. So we have a good hour remaining."

"Good that," Minho chimed in. "Just in case you forgot."

"Shuckface," Thomas grumbled, then proceeded to swing the door back close, when Minho interrupted him. "Oh, and uh … Thomas?"

"Yeah?"

"I have some good news. Brenda is uh … pregnant."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Bre– you … _what_!" Minho was going to be a father, at _twenty_!

"We transferred the zygote to the External Uterus yesterday."

"Minho … I'm happy for you and all that … but do you seriously think _you_ , of all people, can be a father at _twenty_?"

Minho squinched up his eyes. "Why, of course. Think about it … Minho Eswen, father of– whoa– SHUCKFACE!"

Minho crashed to the ground, and that was when Thomas noticed the loop around the older boy's ankle, and Newt's chuckles from across the corridor. Minho jumped to his feet and chased after the taller boy, who was already well on his way to the stairway.

Thomas had a really hard time believing that this hotheaded, sassy nineteen-year-old kid was going to reach fatherhood in nine months.

* * *

They quickly gobbled up their breakfast at Frypan's restaurant, then walked their way to Union Central, which was a sort of a mixture of a home for administrative offices and a small heritage centre, considering the fact that it housed the heavily guarded Flat Trans to Boston. They waved their identity cards at the guards, who barely looked at the cards, realising that they were among the Keepers. Well, besides Jorge, who would pilot their Berg.

"I don't think South Africa'll have any survivors," Teresa said for the umpteenth time. "It's–"

"Still almost completely part of the Scorch, and was fully part of the Scorch when the solar flares struck," Thomas completed for her. "Yes, we know, and for the hundredth time, Teresa - our project is not just to euthanise the Cranks, but also to look for more survivors. Immunes, uninfecteds, whatever."

"Whatever?" Minho asked, sounding suspicious. "Cranks don't count as survivors."

"Slim it, folks!" Newt yelled. "Ready, shanks? To battle the Cranks?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, and Minho announced, "The first battle was Gladers versus Grievers, and the last battle is Shanks vs Cranks."

The Berg's engines roared, and then they were flying.

 **Author's note: **

**Note that the Maze Runner trilogy is set over three hundred years into the future, so I suppose things like external uteri would exist by then.**

 **Also, if you haven't understood already, the Gladers are using a distorted form of their WICKED subject identification numbers as last names. I thought that will be a nice slap in the face to their "subjectification".**

 **So, Teresa would be Teresa Evan, Thomas would be Thomas Attoe, Newt would be Newt Afay, Minho would be Minho Eswen, Aris would be Aris Bivan, Rachel would be Rachel Baetu, and so on.**


	3. Chapter 2

A mere four hours passed before the world fell apart. Thomas and Teresa had been in their usual playful banter, or as Minho had put it: _trying to slit each other's throats one minute, then sucking face the next._

Then came the turbulence. It was the most bizarre thing ever. Thomas had never witnessed a Berg fly any way but smoothly - this was something new, suspicious. And then Jorge started shouting something about losing control of the Berg.

The man came running out of the cockpit. "The Berg's going to crash! Something's _off_ with the whole thing, I tell you, hermanos."

Thomas felt his eyes widen. He stood there, rooted to the ground, when the Berg shook violently, and the five of them were launched off their feet and tossed into the air. That was all that was necessary to snap him out of his daze.

"Minho, get the parachutes," he ordered. "Jorge, a long rope. And we'll connect ourselves so if one of our parachutes malfunctions, … you know."

His friends nodded curtly and ran off. Jorge returned almost immediately, holding a long rope in his hand, at least twenty feet long. Minho came with five packs that presumably contained parachutes. But Thomas had other things on his mind. "You guys jump, I've got to do one last thing. Don't worry, I'll be right after you; there's nothing dangerous."

Teresa seemed to be the only one who understood what he meant. "I'll stay with you."

Thomas, suddenly feeling angry for some reason, started: "Teresa, don't–"

"Like you said, Tom, there's nothing dangerous. I'll stay with you in case your parachute malfunctions."

Thomas knew there was no time to waste arguing, so he simply spun around and ran off towards the weapons chamber. There were tons of ammunition and who-knows-what that Minho had been in charge of. He simply caught the box by his handle and hauled it across the hallway. Teresa ran forward, helping him, and they managed to haul it to the Launch area.

Thomas set the aim to a certainly uninhabited point, then pulled the trigger, and the table underneath the launch area spun around and launched the crate out of the Berg before he knew what was happening.

"Let's go!" he shouted over the noise, and Teresa didn't argue. They grabbed their parachutes and made their way to the cargo hatch.

They jumped, holding hands because they didn't know where to find rope. Thomas felt the free rush of air flowing past his face, and he held his breath.

 _Ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four … three … two … one!_ He pulled on the string. He slowed down, but his parachute hadn't inflated - only Teresa's had. He pulled his string again, and again, but nothing.

What if Teresa's parachute wasn't enough to support both their weights? "Let go!" he yelled, but Teresa only tightened her grip. He was hanging from her hand now, slowly floating down towards the ground.

Their feet hit the ground within minutes, and the first thing Thomas noticed was the look on Teresa's face - somehow smug, angry, and relieved at the same time. "Thanks," was all Thomas could manage, but he felt so much more than that.

He turned ninety degrees to his right, and could see three silhouettes in the distance - that had to be Minho, Newt and Jorge. Thomas felt relieved knowing that his friends were safe. There was a mushroom cloud in the distance, in front of him - that had to be all the ammunition they had disposed off. A thunderous boom sounded from his left, and Thomas didn't need to be told that was the Berg crashing. Or that that would have been his fate if they had stayed any longer.

"What do we do now?" Teresa asked, breaking his musings. Thomas felt himself jolted back to reality.

He was in the _Scorch_. The worst place on Earth he could possibly be. And at noon, no less. The sun shone relentlessly on him as his feet sunk into the ground, and he was shocked that the two weeks he had spent in the Scorch three years ago had caused him to grow used to the place - enough to make him able to ignore the heat and dryness.

They had food supplies to last them a day, water supplies even less. Their friends were approaching them now, and Thomas was at a loss for words. "Maybe we could go back and check the Berg. Maybe some supplies are left. Maybe–"

Thomas stopped himself, analysed his surroundings. The shape of the mountain at whose foot the Berg had crashed. The landscape of the place - a mountain range. Something here, something was familiar about this place. Just like what he'd felt the first night in the Glade, except it didn't feel unnatural, it didn't feel like someone had punched it into his head.

"Tom?" Teresa waved her hand before his face. "What happened?"

"Teresa … I think I've _been_ here before."

"What?"

"Something out there … it feels familiar."

Teresa turned him around to face her. "You know that's exactly what you said your first night in the Glade, right? I had a Beetle Blade following you all the time."

"Creep."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Anyway, what's it about the familiarity?"

"I … I don't know," Thomas admitted. "But I've been here before." He found himself still staring at the mountain. He _knew_ that mountain. Its name was just at the tip of his tongue.

"Tom, get back here." That was when Thomas realised he was already in a dazed walk towards the mountain. "Tom, you'll be getting third-degree sunburns in five minutes if you don't … "

Before Thomas could respond, a parachute was being wrapped around him, and Teresa appeared by his side, wrapped in her own parachute. "Where _are_ you going?"

"I've _been_ here before," was all Thomas managed to say. He realised he knew about the mountain range, he had an idea about its size, about the height of that mountain, the vegetation that once grew there. Back in the Maze, he'd always thought his ability to navigate had to do with his innate sense of direction. The Scorch Trials were one thing, a giant wasteland, but even while navigating through the Underneath, he had been utterly lost - his ability to navigate in the Maze was based on one thing and one thing only: the fact that he had helped design it.

And here it was again - a strange sense of direction in this place … what did it mean?

As if reading his thoughts, Teresa asked, "You didn't design the mountain range, did you?"

Soon, their friends had caught up with him, and had begun pestering him with questions. When he refused to answer, they turned to Teresa, who simply shrugged.

"Thomas," Minho said, warning lacing his voice. "You better be taking us somewhere good, or I'll make sure you return to the Berg with a broken nose and smashed privates."

"Tommy's gonna need medical attention today," Newt said with a snicker.

But Thomas filtered it all out. He _had_ to find out where they were. He found himself steadily approaching a single point on the surface of the mountain, which had to have an altitude of a hundred metres or so.

And then his left foot hit something hard, harder than the sand, and a metallic clang sounded through the air. Thomas crouched down and brushed the sand off whatever his foot had hit. It was a metal plaque. Thomas squinted to see the words.

 **Mount Meron**

"Mount Meron," he read. The name sounded familiar on his lips, something from his distant past that he no longer remembered, but felt a familiar connection with, all the same. "Jorge?" he called. "Where are we?"

"Last I saw before the Berg went crazy, we were somewhere round the Mediterranean," Jorge replied. "Probably in West Asia or something right now."

"Well, if we can hike our way back to the Mediterranean, maybe we could … " Teresa trailed off.

But Thomas's mind was somewhere else. _West Asia._ He had spent his earliest years in Israel. The familiarity he felt … Could they … were they in Israel?

He stopped suddenly, almost causing Teresa to crash into him, and crouched to the ground. He placed his hands on the ground, but it burned. He covered the surface of his palms with the cloth, and pushed them down onto the ground before him.

The ground opened before him.

Sand poured into the opening. He heard murmurs, a gasp, from behind him, but Thomas himself sat before the opening, frozen and perplexed. But not surprised. It was almost as if he had _expected_ the trapdoor, or whatever that was, to open up.

Without thinking twice, Thomas launched his feet into the trapdoor, and then he was climbing down the rungs of a long ladder, that had to be at least fifty metres tall. The air was much cooler here, moist even.

Thomas didn't know what he was expecting when his feet hit the floor, but what he saw before him was a very frail old man, trembling, his gaze directed at Thomas.

And then Thomas noticed the gun in the man's hands.


	4. Chapter 3

Shocked and at a loss for words, Thomas immediately raised his hands in a surrender position. But if there was anything that could surprise him further, it was the man's next words.

"Please don't hurt … me," he begged. "I'll admit it! The Draconian Lies … I publish them. The spies … the rebels .. it's all me."

There was something oddly familiar about the voice, about the man's face. Thomas opened his mouth to speak and closed it, then opened it again. "I have no clue what you're talking about," he said, slightly surprised by how calm his own voice sounded. "But we really need some water. Please?"

The man looked like he was taken by surprise. "Ye– yeah. Take all the water you want. Please … don't hurt u– … me." Again that oddly familiar voice.

Thomas sighed. "Look, we're not here to hurt you. We're from a city far down in the South. Our Berg crashed, and we need some water, that's all. Is it safe here?"

The old man nodded quickly, sweat licking at his foreheads. A look of recognition flashed across his face, and Thomas had no idea what to make out of it, out of any of that. "Come on down!" he called to his friends. "It's safe down here." He realised he didn't have any reason to trust this old man, but …

* * *

They managed to convince the old man - who introduced himself as Aharon - that they weren't here to hurt him, and Aharon kindly agreed to replenish them with water and food - well, dried-up food that looked like something for astronauts. In exchange, they merely had to listen to Aharon's life story. Thomas didn't mind at all - he realised he _wanted_ to hear. _Wanted_ to know who Aharon was, what this place was.

They learnt that the place was an old Israeli aerospace base, from before the country was destroyed in the solar flares. Aharon's parents both worked in the IDF - his father had been a pilot, and his mother had worked for the navy. The man flew by Berg to scavenge for food and supplies

"Tunisia invaded us when I was thirteen," the man recounted, sounding as if he were in a daze. Thomas knew about the Israeli-Tunisian war: Tunisia's economy had gone to the shambles, and had been overrun by a radical religious group. The religious elements surprisingly wore off, but it remained a dictatorship. Sometime near the end of the twenty-second century, Tunisia invaded Israeli oceans in hunger for more power over the Mediterranean. Israel managed to defend its borders in the end, but suffered significant damage from the attack, thanks to the support Tunisia received from its many allies.

"My mother was killed in a shipwreck," Aharon continued. "My father … he was killed by a micro-missile … " Thomas wanted to say he was sorry, but his voice wasn't working. " _Our_ technology," Aharon continued. " _Israeli_ technology. Traitors sold us out, sold our weapons to a dictatorship.

"One fine day, the war reached Jerusalem. I lived there at the time. A wounded Tunisian soldier, a child soldier, she found herself on my doorstep. Her name was Emma Spinoza," The name sounded Jewish to Thomas. Sephardic, he guessed. Were Jews allowed to work for the Tunisian military at the time? He continued listening to Aharon.

"I was young and innocent at the time, so I gave her food, medical attention … best mistake of my life. She came across a diary of mine, and … you need to realise she was just a child at the time, my age. The IDF didn't usually attack child soldiers, but Tunisia had come up with the _brilliant_ idea of placing child soldiers between the adult ones."

 _Emma. Aharon._ The names sounded sharply familiar to Thomas, but he couldn't put his finger on anything specific.

"Anyway," Aharon continued, "She realised there was a life beyond Tunisia and their dictatorship. That they could have freedom. So when the war ended, she didn't return to Tunisia. She stayed with me, we … well, we eventually, well … we had a child. We named her Leah."

And then things fell into place for Thomas. His eyes widened at the realisation of whom Aharon was, whom Aharon was to _him_.

"But Emma wasn't just an ordinary soldier. She was the daughter of Hannah, the Tunisian monarch. Hannah didn't care to find her, but when her son Drake inherited the Caliphate … well, Emma says … _said_ … she thought he assassinated Hannah … Drake started searching for Emma.

"Drake knew Tunisia couldn't survive another war with Israel, so he tried another tactic. He began killing innocent people, innocent Tunisians, accusing them of kidnapping Emma," Aharon gulped. "He knew that would make Emma return. And she did."

"I woke up one day to find her gone, and a note on my table. It said," he took another gulp, " _They're dying because of me, Aharon. The guilt is killing me. I'm sorry I have to leave you like this, but this is for the best. Goodbye._ " It sounded as if the man had memorised those words years earlier.

"Drake executed her, three days later. She admitted to them that she turned her back on Tunisia - I think she was afraid they'd hurt me if she claimed … otherwise. But they still did, anyway. They somehow managed to find me, I think it has something to do with Emma's trackers, and they fired rockets at my house. I had gone out that day, Leah in my arms, so we survived. When I returned and saw my house flattened, I fled. I'd overheard my father talking of an aerospace base at Mount Meron, and well, here I am.

"When I came here, the place had been abandoned after our spies found out Tunisia was going to attack us here. But Tunisia never bombed Mount Meron - I guess they had their own spies who told them about this place getting abandoned. There were … _are_ plenty of supplies, so this is where Leah grew up with her teenage father. There's a huge library at the back, and Leah self-studied, grew a huge interest in Mathematics, and became a mathematician. Leah married, a physicist - he was from India, but the Chinese attacked them at the time, and he seeked refuge in the U.S for a while before meeting Leah in a conference. They came down here to Mount Meron.

"And then came the solar flares," Aharon said with a sigh. "They fled to Washington so their child could have better educational facilities than a single library. Oh, yeah, I had a grandson. His name was–"

"Noam," Thomas completed. "Noam Rajweiss."

Thomas barely noticed the looks of surprise on his friends' faces, too stunned to say another word. Aharon eyed him curiously. "Do you know him?" he asked, but his voice showed that Aharon knew exactly how Thomas knew him.

"Yes. I know myself."

 **Author's note:**

 **fadingshadows: Turns out, you were absolutely correct.**


	5. Chapter 4

His grandfather here.

Alive.

Thomas felt his own jaw drop in surprise at what he had just said. Aharon simply stared at him, but Thomas thought the man's eyes had grown ever so slightly moist, perhaps from his old memories - from _their_ old memories. Aharon looked quite different from Thomas, though. The man was aged - maybe more by the environment than by time - few strands of dark hair dotted a sea of whiter ones. His eyes were grey, but not gimlet, which meant the colour of his eyes were not due to his age.

Minho was first to break the silence. "Shuck it, dude. Why am I the only one here with no family? You've got your grandpa, Teresa has a sister, Newt has a sister and a shuckin' _mother_."

"Well," Thomas began, "I also just found out my mother's uncle was a shuckin' psycho … "

"You've sure inherited his genes," Minho said with a snicker.

"You said your name was Thomas," Aharon said softly, looking at Thomas.

Thomas gave him a nod. "WICKED gave us nicknames, named us after famous people and organisations. I'm nicknamed after Edison, Teresa's named after Mother Teresa, Newt's named after Isaac Newton, Minho's named after the Lee Minho Institute for Medical Sciences."

Aharon looked like he was trying to spark a conversation. "What happened after you moved to Washington. How … ?"

It felt all so strange. Thomas thought it should feel like a personal moment, but it didn't. This man was his _grandfather_. Why did that sound so ridiculous? Why did he still seem like a stranger to Thomas?

"My father caught the Flare," he finally said. "And then my mother, too, but she was way slower than most for the time. In the journey to the Gone, I mean. But I was Immune, and well … My mother let WICKED have me, and I became one of their test subjects. Also, I worked for them. In designing the Maze."

"So … how did the Trials go?" It seemed to Thomas like Aharon was trying to build a more personal conversation, but Thomas found it all awfully hard. Also, he was surprised that Aharon knew anything at all about the Trials.

But he explained everything, starting with the moment he'd woken up in the Box with memories wiped, to WICKED's failure at finding a cure and their escape to Vaidehi, and finally their rescue and world domination projects.

Thomas would have expected Aharon to appear dumbfounded by the end of it, but he didn't. Instead he said: "All the more reasons for us to stop Drake."

Thomas stared at his grandfather, startled. " _Drake_? I thought … the solar flares … "

Aharon shook his head sadly. "A few years before the Solar Flares, Drake destroyed his capital and started building an underground city right under it. I think he wanted to be safe from foreign intervention, and it ended up protecting him from the Solar Flares. In the end, Drake benefited from the Flare, because it gave governments worldwide a much greater problem - or so they thought - to deal with."

Aharon took out a piece of paper and drew a circle at its centre.

"This right here," he pointed to it, "Is what we call the roof of the city of Tunis." He drew a larger circle around it, then sliced the ring between them into four equal parts, before pointing at the one in the top-left. "Each of these sections has a purpose. This right here is the solar power plant. Rows and rows of solar panels that generate electricity for his city." He pointed to the part in top-right. "This right here is a huge farm. Cactii and camels and stuff." Then to the part in the top-left. "This is a bunch of long travellators."

Thomas waited, but Aharon said nothing more. Finally, Newt asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "What about the fourth one?"

After a long time, Aharon finally spoke.

"The Mazes," he said. "The Mazes."


	6. Chapter 5

"What do you mean the Mazes?" Thomas questioned. Teresa and he had designed the Maze for WICKED, but that was to collect Killzone patterns, to find a cure for the Flare. Why would Drake build a Maze?

"That," Aharon said with a sigh. "I should probably let Bennett explain."

"Bennett?" Thomas questioned.

"I … I'm just a simple caretaker of this place," Aharon said, not directly answering the question. "It's Bennett who leads the rebellion against the Order, publishes The Draconian Lies, everything."

 _Rebellion? Order? Lies?_ Thomas thought he'd heard Aharon mention 'The Draconian Lies' before, but couldn't recall when or how. "What do you mean he publishes lies?"

Aharon laughed. "It's a newspaper. The Draconian Lies. It exposes the lies of the Order."

"What Order?" Thomas asked.

"The Order … " Aharon let out an exasperated sigh. "Just follow me. Bennet'll explain."

Aharon led the four of them down a bunch of hallways, then down a flight of stairs, another hallway, more stairs, more hallways, up a flight of stairs, and down another hallway, to a dead end.

Aharon crouched down and pressed his thumb onto the bottom corner of the wall, revealing a control panel. He pressed a few buttons, revealing a keypad, then typed:

 _ **We're here from the Organised rebellion. Now let us in, and Don't question my identity. the one who knows this password, sure you know what they be for, Eh, Right?**_

Thomas thought the capitalisation was weird. "W … O … N … D … E … R. Wonder? Seriously?" Aharon shushed him, then pressed a button, and the wall parted itself in the middle, and the left side began to move away away from the right, until it completely disappeared. "Bennet's work," Aharon whispered with a smile.

It was a small room, probably a cube of size four metres. Rows and rows of computers populated the right wall, while the left contained a few displays and speakers. The wall directly in front of him was covered with framed photographs, and in front of it was a chair and a desk with a laptop on it.

Where was Bennett? _Who_ was Bennett? An Artificial Intelligence, perhaps?

"Bennett," Aharon called. "We've got some visitors. Potential allies in the Organised Rebellion."

At the mention of Bennett's name, the chair spun around, revealing a young boy seated in it.

So this was Bennett.

He was a scrawny thing - he had messy brown hair, green eyes, and a seemingly permanent dimpled smile.

"Bennett," Aharon said, "We've got guests. Tell them about the Order."

"Yeah," Thomas said, nodding. "And Drake, your newspaper, everything."

Bennett rolled his eyes then turned to face Aharon. "You trust them?" he asked in an accent that somehow sounded both Israeli and British at the same time.

Aharon nodded. "Yeah. And they were WICKED's subjects. One of them's my grandson."

Bennett looked surprised, and then he laughed. "I don't need to guess, do I?" The boy was right - Aharon's grandson was obviously not Teresa, and Aharon looked startlingly different from Minho and Newt.

"So you're Noam?" he asked, nodding at Thomas.

Thomas nodded. "My original name. WICKED named me Thomas. I mean … it's a long story."

Bennett flashed him a smile. "Yeah, I know. WICKED named me Clipper."

"Wait, what?" Thomas asked, surprised. What did this kid know about WICKED?

Bennett shrugged. "I was one of their first test subjects for the Swipe. I was six back then. You're lucky - we were named after random _tools_. I had a friend, Sarah - she was named Noose." He laughed for the first time, and there was something very likeable about it.

Thomas's mind started spinning. Bennett, or as he said he was called, _Clipper_ was a test subject for the _Swipe_. "The Swipe? You mean you can … ?" Could the kid talk telepathically, like Thomas and Teresa?

Clipper shook his head. "With Sarah, yes. But not with you guys. We're not on the same telepathic network," he glanced at Teresa, then back at Thomas.

Thomas was surprised by that gesture. "How do you know we can communicate telepathically?"

Clipper shrugged. "Four of you WICKED's subjects, one's a girl. So I guess you're from Group A, and she was the Trigger. And it's obvious whom the pre-Trigger is, considering how close you guys are stan– … I mean … never mind."

The boy looked more embarrassed at what he'd just said, than Thomas felt. Teresa, beside him, looked mortified, and was staring at the ceiling as if afraid to let the blush show on her cheeks. Minho snickered, and he looked like he was trying to come up with one of his snide remarks.

"Anyway," Thomas said, changing the topic, "Aharon said something about Drake using Mazes. What's that about?"

Clipper nodded. "I don't know how much Aharon has told you, so I'll start from the beginning." He took a deep breath. "For many years, a large Islamic Caliphate ruled much of North Africa and the Middle East. Israel was the only country in the region to fend them off. The Caliphate originated in Tunisia, and now, after the Solar Flares, it no longer has any solid borders. The only remaining settlement there is an underground city called Tunis.

"It's ruled by a single monarch, a man named Drake," The boy's tone turned bitter as he took the man's name. "Drake isn't from the original lineage of the dictators who ruled Tunisia - Drake's grandfather, a man named Robert, led the rebellion against al-Aziz, the monarch at that time. Robert pushed for so many social and economic reforms. He managed to make Tunisia capitalist, managed to make it secular, irreligious, even. He even managed to get rid of the sexism that was so prevalent in Tunisian society. But then he was assassinated. By his daughter, Hannah.

"Robert wasn't unable to curb the nepotism prevalent in Tunisia, and he was yet to establish a democracy, so people accepted Hannah as their ruler. But Robert was Jewish, and so was Hannah, so some people started questioning Hannah's loyalty to Tunisia. So to squash those rumours before they spread, Hannah attacked Israel. Israel fought back well, of course, and Hannah's forces were crushed, even if Israel suffered significant damage.

"And then came her son, Drake, the worst ruler Tunisia ever had. News spread that Drake was born of Hannah's um … sexual experiment with her younger brother, and not from Vincent, her husband. Drake thought these rumours could destablise his authority, so he clamped down on all social liberties that Robert had ever granted Tunisian citizens, came up with these draconian rules to crush all dissent. People killed for the pettiest of crimes, no freedom of speech at all, relatives of criminals killed, punishments awarded by Drake's whims and fancy, no freedom to courts, cruel methods of punishment, and spying. Spying everywhere.

"Tunis is littered with two-way Audio-Visual systems that function as an announcement system and surveillance camera combined. Religion had mostly vanished during Robert's rule, but Drake reinstated it - his own little religion that he named after himself. The Draconian Order. Or in short, the Order. It's not just a religion or a cult, but also has a Leninist-style political party in its name.

"But that wasn't it. Drake's a freakin' psycho. He thinks there's something superior about his lineage - despite the fact that he killed his parents and reversed everything his grandfather did - and he wants his lineage to take over the world. So he invented a system called Biocopy. Cloning basically, but a sort that doesn't weaken the clone or the original in anyway.

"So he Biocopied his own sperm, kidnapped thousands of women, and impregnated them. He plans to breed his sons with their own mothers, sisters, aunts, build a huge Lineage," Clipper paused. "The Draconian Lineage."

"Wait a shuckin' second," Minho interrupted. "Why the shuck did he need to clone his own sperm? Did he have sperm count issues or something?"

Clipper shook his head. "He put his sperm through thousands of biological tests, and only the strongest survived. I know it's stupid, but well … it's Drake. Drake _is_ stupid."

Thomas thought that if Drake were really stupid, it probably wouldn't be so hard to get rid of him.

"Anyway," Clipper said, breaking his musings, "That wasn't it. Like I said, he wants to divert all of the world's resources into serving his lineage. What he wants is an army of perfect soldiers. Loyal, strong, brave, numerous." He paused. "That's where the Mazes come in."

Thomas thought he had to be missing something. The Maze was a way to collect Killzone patterns. How would it build an army of perfect soldiers?

"The Trials you know was used to collect brain patterns," Clipper said, as if reading his thoughts. "But they could be used for so much more. Drake will put his subjects–"

Minho's eyes flared with anger. "Call them subjects again and I'll–"

"Minho!" Thomas snapped, annoyed. "Enough."

Minho turned to glare daggers at Thomas, who returned the glare. Thomas was good at stare-offs, so Minho turned his gaze to Clipper instead, who rolled his eyes and continued speaking.

"Drake will put his dear little cutie babies," the boy rolled his eyes again, and Thomas was unable to suppress a smirk, "through the same Trials you guys went through - the Maze, the Scorch, everything, train them to be soldiers. Memories will be implanted in some of their heads, making them believe they worked for the WICKED." Obviously noticing the looks of surprise on everyone's faces, he clarified: "Drake misleads them into thinking WICKED is behind it."

"That's incredibly inefficient," Thomas pointed out. "I mean, it might be enough to conquer this Flare-ridden world, but it won't be enough to steal the world's resources."

Clipper sighed. "They're a means to an end, Thomas. The Biocopy process is not limited to Drake's sperm."

"The survivors of the Trials will be Biocopied into the thousands," Thomas completed, things clicking in his mind, "And Drake will build a massive unstoppable army."

"That's right," Clipper said, "But that's not all. Why would they be loyal to Drake? After all they were made to go through in the Trials, why would they support Drake, right?

"That's where the Swipe comes in," the boy continued said, scratching a few lines on a piece of paper on his table. "I trust you know the Swipe isn't just a memory wipe or a telepathy router. It's a full-fledged brain manager.

"The Order managed to program in a loyalty to Drake within the Biocopies. They remember everything the original subjects do, but they're loyal to Drake. People are soft-wired for empathy, but Drake managed to overrule that in his Biocopies, put in loyalty instead. There are some technical difficulties that arise when doing that to normal people, so the Biocopies' brains are altered before they're actually printed, otherwise the loyalty wouldn't work."

"How does Drake have so much access to WICKED's technology?" Teresa asked, suspicion evident in her voice.

"Rumour is that Drake had friends in the PFC who later worked for WICKED. There's a lot of leaked correspondence between Drake and a man named Janson."

Minho's fists clenched and unclenched as he whispered, " _Rat Man_ ," over and over again. Teresa looked horrified. Newt's expression was unreadable.

As for Thomas, he felt a terrible, terrible guilt. _He_ had approved Rat Man for the job. Even later, when he had found out about Janson's true intentions, he had thought that the Rat Man's behaviour was because of his selfishness and jealousy of the Immunes. But now, Thomas realised it went much, much deeper than that - the WICKED employees whom he had gotten on his side - they might have worked for him to satiate their jealousy, but Janson himself only ever cared for himself and whatever money he got from the Order.

"It's not just Janson, though," Clipper said quickly, barely relieving Thomas of the guilt. "In fact, Janson's contribution is among the least, since his work was on the purely emotional aspects of the Trials. The Betrayal and all that."

Thomas didn't like to be reminded of the Betrayal variable, and he knew that Teresa didn't, either. "How far into the Trials are they?" Thomas asked, changing the subject.

"Two years," Clipper replied. "The Ending will be triggered in a few days, then they'll be sent through the Scorch and stuff."

"Why do people work for him?" Teresa asked, sounding horrified. "I mean, I get the punishments and stuff, but _working_ for him? Why would anyone work for the Order?"

"He lies to them. He's been staging attacks on Tunis and claiming it to be Israel's fault. Only his closest associates know the truth. The truth is, our beautiful nation was destroyed in the solar flares. He tells them they need the Order to protect them, to ration water. But Tunis doesn't have a water shortage. There are hundreds of desalination plants, except most of them are kept dormant.

"It's all a stupid lie," Clipper spat. "To serve Drake and his lineage of bastards." Thomas saw in Bennet's eyes a determination, a passion he hadn't seen before in a person, Clipper's age or otherwise. He had met Clipper just minutes ago, but he loved the kid. Loved him like he were his little brother. "But this loyalty is disintegrating," Clipper continued, "People are realising that Israel does not exist, and that it never was the enemy. That Drake is. The Order is.

"I'll keep exposing his lies with my newspaper," he said, then paused. "I have my spies."

"Spies?" Thomas repeated.

Clipper rolled his eyes. "You didn't think I manage the whole rebellion myself, did you? Harvey's work. I have a network of spies within the Order, on a telepathy network of our own. Plus I distribute my newspaper through security loopholes in the Order's system."

"Who's Harvey?"

Clipper opened his mouth to speak, but a beep sounded from his laptop, and the boy glanced over his shoulder. "Brothers of the second schedules," he read out, then turned around, beaming happily. "Plural becomes singular. Brother, twin, Biocopy. Second schedule is the codename for former Mecca. A Biocopy is on mission near former Mecca. We can free the Mazes."

Thomas raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Will you guys do this for me?" Clipper pleaded. "We need to capture the Biocopy, alive. Then take out his Swipe and get him to help us."

Thomas shrugged. "Doesn't sound too hard."

"We'll do it," Minho said, glaring at Thomas - Thomas knew the boy didn't like decisions to be taken without consulting him. "But first we want some answers. Like details of the Mazes. Who this shuck Harvey is."

Clipper frowned. "You know nothing about Harvey," he snapped, suddenly sounding angry. "So shut your hole."

"Bennett was very attached to Harvey," Aharon chimed in from behind them - Thomas had forgotten he was still there. "Everything we have now, the loopholes Bennett knows of, the Biocopies' programming … everything is due to Harvey."

"We had a plan," Clipper said with a sigh, tears welling in his eyes. "Harvey once worked for Drake, engineered the Biocopies. But then he saw through Drake's lies, and escaped. So Drake wanted him back, stop him from revealing too many secrets. The plan was I would march Harvey to Tunis, win Drake's trust, then grab Drake's backups - all his code, for the Biocopies, everything, and then we'd escape before Drake knew what was happening.

"What Harvey didn't tell me, was that _we_ meant only _me_. Drake had him executed, shot in the head. And I ran away from him. Like a coward.

"But I won't let his death be for vain," Clipper said, the old determination returning to his voice, the passion returning to his eyes. "What Harvey started, I'll finish."

"What's worse is that Drake's had Harvey Biocopied," Aharon said with a sigh. "Imagine that, a noble fellow like Harvey, working for the Order. For Drake. But there was a malfunctioning in his Biocopy, and Drake couldn't get him to be as smart as the real Harvey. So this one's just working as a random guard.

"I fled our old hideout," Clipper continued. "Because Harvey's Biocopy would remember its location. And then Aharon found me when he was on his Berg - looking for food. And well, here I am.

"Anyway," he said, his voice suddenly sounding fresh. "Drake's built five Mazes, much like WICKED's, but with differences - two are male-only, two are female-only, and one's mixed-gender. In the unisex Mazes, there's one with more difficult living conditions - icy cold, less fresh supplies, no Grief Serum, stuff like that."

"Why should we trust you?" Minho asked, obviously making no attempt to hide his mistrust of Clipper. "How 'bout you start telling us about your past life, so we can think about trusting you?"

"Speak for yourself, shuckface," Thomas instinctively snapped at the older boy. "You're the only one who _doesn't_ trust Bennett."

"You too, Tommy," Newt snapped, his voice raw. "Speak for yourself. I don't trust him all that much, either."

Thomas sighed, then turned to Clipper. "Sorry about these two shuck-faces, Bennett."

Clipper grinned. Was it even possible for this kid to feel emotions such as hurt? "It's fine," he turned to Minho. "I can make you trust me. You asked me about my past life, fine. I was born in Berlin to Shelach Israeli and Elizabeth Turner. They both caught the Flare and died, but I was Immune, so my Dad handed me over to WICKED before he shot my Mom and himself. WICKED deemed me unfit for the Trials, due to my Polio, but used me as a test subject for the Swipe.

"Three years ago, when Ava Paige became Chancellor, she decided to send the test subjects and the trial rejects to a _safe place_. My Berg crashed, and I was the only survivor. The other Berg made it to the safe place, and I know this because I continue to communicate with Sarah."

"The safe place is in the Antarctic Peninsula," Thomas informed, happy to provide something of use. "We live in Vaidehi, couple hundred kilometres away. Teresa's sister probably knows this Sarah."

Clipper's face brightened, but he didn't respond to Thomas. "Anyway," he continued, "I saw another crashed Berg nearby, and I walked over, and stumbled upon Harvey's hideout. Harvey's Berg had crashed, too, when he was escaping Tunis, and he deliberately kept it that way to fool Drake into thinking he was dead. After I marched Harvey to Drake to get the backups and stuff, I found out Drake had Biocopied Harvey before executing him. I realised the Biocopy would reveal the details of our hideout, so I fled. Lo and behold, my Berg crashed again, this time near Mount Meron, and I stumbled upon Aharon, who was readying his own Berg to the Mediterranean, in search for food and stuff. And well … here I am."

How many Bergs had crashed here? What other secrets did this place hold? It seemed like this place was the new Bermuda triangle, the latest and greatest mystery.

"We didn't see any other crashed Bergs around here," Minho snapped, his face still full of suspicion. "And how did Aharon never get his Berg crashed?"

Clipper sighed. "We're in the midst of a desert, Shuck-face Major,–" the kid must have picked up the Gladers' slang quite quickly - Thomas found himself liking Bennett more and more, "–the Berg's probably buried three feet deep in the soil by now.

"As for Aharon, he uses a military Berg. Military Bergs aren't affected by … whatever causes these Bergs to crash. I have no clue what it is."

Minho opened his mouth to speak, but Clipper shushed him. "Come on. If you want to help me, you'll have to learn a little bit more about the Biocopies. He took out a piece of paper, then scratched a few lines on it - this had to be a common habit of the boy's.

"Drake prints Biocopies into six streams," Clipper started. "Each stream has a specific purpose. Stream A is currently empty - it's for the trial survivors. There's a Stream AI, which is for military purpose, and there's a Stream AII, which is for internal security.

"Stream B contains Biocopies of Drake's citizens. Stream BI contains Biocopies of Order employees, while Stream BII contains Biocopies of ordinary Tunis citizens. BI will eventually be replaced by AII.

"Stream C. Biocopies of Drake's sons," Clipper didn't elaborate on that. "Stream D is what Drake calls the Biocopies of _biological specimens_. Basically his sperm and stuff. Stream E is Experimental stuff, beta, alpha, pre-alpha, all that. And finally there's Stream F. The Stock Biocopies. Miscellaneous. He uses them to impersonate people and stuff. They don't carry their badges, usually."

"Why the shuck do we need to know this?" Minho asked. Clipper, by now, knew better than to respond.

"And then there are six generations," Clipper continued. "The first generation Biocopies were a basic one-time cloning. Second gen added the ability to clone an unlimited number of times. Third generation added a programmable memory, through the Swipe. Fourth generation uses these APIs to disable mirror neurons. The idea is to get rid of the Biocopies' empathic human-like soft-wiring. Fifth generation soft-wires the Biocopy for obedience to Drake's orders. The Draconian Orders, I call 'em.

"Gen-6 disabled the amygdala, which was the most bug-prone and vulnerable area of the brain. The most rudimentary soft-wiring of the human brain, was introduced in Generation 4. Self-preservation. Drake wants to eliminate that.

"Every Biocopy sequence is of the form SG-Q.R. For instance, F6-220.12 is the twelfth Biocopy of the two hundred and twentieth individual in the sixth-generation F-stream Biocopies. Biocopies of the form SG-Q.0 are called parent Biocopies, the first Biocopy spun off the person, and all the other Biocopies in that series are spun off it."

"There's … another stream," Clipper said with a sigh, scratching a circle on his piece of paper. "Stream AIII. But there's no description. Harvey doesn't … _didn't_ know about it either."

A long pause followed, and the suspicion was wiped off Minho's face.

"So … " Thomas said, breaking the silence. "When do we make a move?"

"Tomorrow," Clipper said.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Feauturing major OCs:**  


 **\- Aharon Weiss - Caretaker of the Rebel Headquarters, Thomas's grandfather**

 **\- Bennett 'Clipper' Turner Israeli - 13-year old Rebel Leader, former Swipe subject**

 **\- Harvey Maldoon - Former Rebel Leader, Clipper's guru, now deceased**

 **\- Drake Spinoza - Tyrannical dictator of Tunisia**

 **I should mention that my story contains some similiarities to the _Taken_ trilogy by Erin Bowman (the Biocopies, for instance), so Harvey and Clipper are named off the Harvey and Clipper in _Taken_. Of course, Clipper's real name in _Taken_ is Clayton Jones.**


	7. Chapter 6

"But … how do you know?"

"The timestamp on the message is faked," Clipper explained. "It was marked as twenty hours ago, so it means the Biocopy will reach Mecca twenty hours later."

Thomas glanced at his digital watch. Six in the evening, or in Vaidehi time zone, it was noon. _Shuckin' jetlag_ , he thought. "So we have to be there at two in the afternoon tomorrow?"

Clipper gave him a nod. "Going there by Berg is about one and a half hours, so we'll take off at ten in the morning."

* * *

Minho had Bennett show him his previous crashed Berg, which ended up being buried three feet deep into the soil, just as Bennett had guessed. Aharon served dinner, which Thomas treated as lunch. Teresa made contact to Vaidehi and informed the Cabinet of an _important mission_ , and they delegated their powers to their respective second-in-commands. It was only then that it began to hit Thomas what kind of a long mission they had probably volunteered for.

Impossibly, he didn't mind. He was kind of excited, actually.

"We'll get a lot of supporters," Clipper said, taking a seat that was strategically placed so as to be close to Thomas and turning his back to Minho. "Two hundred kids, all strong and toughened in the Maze. Not all of them will join us, but I bet at least a good one hundred and fifty."

Thomas shrugged. "It's possible some will prefer the comforts of ordinary teenage life, but I bet a good number would want to take revenge." Thomas recalled what _he_ had felt against WICKED at one point in time, even despite the fact that WICKED had always had utilitarian goals, despite the fact that WICKED had always worked for the greater good.

Clipper opened his mouth to say something, but then Minho joined them, and the boy just feigned a yawn instead.

Luckily, Minho had something other than suspicion for Clipper this time. "Hey, uh … Bennett, right? I'm sorry for being a shuck."

Thomas's eyes widened in surprise. "You deserve a place in history," he told Clipper, "Just for getting an apology from _Minho_. Minho Eswen!"

Clipper grinned widely, then winked at Minho. "Out of the goodness of my heart, I shall let it go."

Minho smirked, then offered his hand to the boy. "Glad Drake and his mess brought us together."

Clipper shook his hand, but said: "Together? I thought you were all about Brenda? You don't want to cuddle, do you?"

Minho stammered for a comeback, but obviously found nothing. _Shuckface finally found his match,_ Thomas thought with a smirk.

"How do you know about Brenda?" Minho finally asked the younger boy.

"Teresa told me," Clipper replied. "She said, and I quote, _Don't worry about Minho, he's just having his hormones. He's pregnant. The father's name is Brenda_."

Minho's cheeks turned a bright red.

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Thomas muttered.

"Hey, even if I _were_ pregnant, I'd use an external uterus," Minho said, completely straight-faced. "Brenda's using it!"

Clipper rolled his eyes, then a mischievous grin crept to his face. "You do look like you're pregnant, though. Look at your tummy."

Thomas glanced at Minho. The boy _had_ gained some weight in the past few days, thanks to his cold (which WICKED had, for some reason, not vaccinated him against, and, Thomas would add, was probably the biggest mistake WICKED had ever made, considering the horror it was to witness Minho's sneezes), but he looked far from pregnant.

Minho glared at Clipper. "I bet you can't run half as fast as me, shuckface."

The boy shrugged. "Race 'round Meron?"

"Sure thing, shuckface."

"Fine, three rounds around Meron. Noam'll be the judge, alright?"

Thomas shrugged, wondering how Clipper planned to race the former Keeper of Runners.

* * *

The air outside was considerably cooler now that it was night-time, cold even, more than enough to make Thomas shiver.

"Ready … get set … go!" Thomas watched Minho sprint down the hill, towards its base, without looking back.

Clipper, on the other hand, grinned at Thomas. "Aharon told me your Mom used to call you Meron." The boy proceeded to walk six rounds around Thomas, leaving him dumbfounded at the clever ways of the Rebel Leader.

 **Author's note:**

 **So ... that was one fluffy chapter. Don't worry, the action will begin soon, I promise!**

 **Also, note that The Maze Runner trilogy is set a couple of centuries into the future, and I'm assuming a vaccine for the common cold exists by then.**


	8. Chapter 7

The Military Berg lowered itself onto the ground, and the thrusters dimmed.

"Listen to me," Clipper whispered as slammed the cockpit door behind him, his tone suddenly sounding raspy and harsh to Thomas's ears. The Leader of the Organised Rebellion pointed out of the Hatch, towards the ruins of an old city. "That over there is former Mecca. The Biocopies will be surrounded by significant security forces, and it'll be hard for us to distinguish the Biocopies from the rest of the team. We'll spy around for a while, track them and stuff. The best time to attack will be at night.

"The code that runs on the Biocopy is so complex the Swipe overheats," the boy explained. "This damages some of the nearby glands, including the hypothalamus. The easiest trait to notice is a rapidly fluctuating body temperature. I've got infrared goggles, but it will be unreliable at daytime, thanks to–" he pointed his right index finger up at the sky.

"So what do we do now?" Minho asked. "Sit around? Is that why we came here?"

Clipper rolled his eyes. "Did you not hear me, or are you genuinely so stupid?" Minho glared at him. "We track them," Clipper explained. "Spy around."

* * *

The team of five ended up scooping up a medium-sized solar-powered car from the Mecca city. It was, unsurprisingly, heavily damaged, but Clipper was able to fix it to make it reasonably usable, at least after replacing the tyres.

It was a jerky ride, and the setting of a barren wasteland wasn't particularly encouraging, either. Newt was the only one who could drive a vehicle, a skill he had picked up in Vaidehi.

"I can see 'em!" Thomas yelled, still looking through his binoculars. Newt jerked the car to a stop. In the distance, Thomas could see what appeared to be a small group of tents.

But it didn't make sense. "Why would the Order go around on _foot_?" Thomas asked. "Why not use a Berg or something?"

"Because they don't want to get caught," Clipper responded, reciting it like he'd said, or heard, the same thing a dozen times over. "Bergs can be spotted from the distance. Land vehicles cannot."

"Give me the Infrared goggles," Thomas said, nodding towards Clipper. The boy handed him a pair, and Thomas put them on, still looking through the Binoculars. He fiddled around with the Binoculars until …

"Sandstorm!" Clipper yelled suddenly. A wall of dust was approaching them from the distance, parallel to the line connecting them with the Order camp. They had no chance against it in a car with shattered windows. "Damn it, damn it. Hey, uh … Newt, we need to go back. We need to–"

Clipper stopped abruptly, and Thomas saw what caught his attention.

Their Berg, shattered into pieces, was flying through the Scorch.

"Well, shuck me," Minho muttered.

"Can't stay, can't go left, can't go right, can't go towards, can't run away … " Clipper considered aloud.

An idea struck Thomas. "What about the Order team? They've gotta … " He turned his gaze towards the Order camp. A metal rod had sprung up from somewhere in the camp, and was splitting into various branches at the top, that then plunged into the ground, surrounding the camp. Metal sheets rolled out between the rods, engulfing the camp in a metal dome.

"You want to go inside that?" Clipper asked.

Thomas nodded. "Yup. No use if we're all dead."

Newt was already driving towards the dome at full speed. Thomas readied his pistol to shoot their way into the Dome. Even at full speed, it took a minute or two to reach the Dome, and the storm was now closer than ever - scraps of paper, a few rocks, small scrapings of metal were now flying through the air. The five exited the car and ran towards the Dome. It seemed to be shining white-hot in the scorching sun.

Teresa turned off the safety from beside him, and Thomas shouted over the noise, "Wait!"

Teresa looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"It does us no good if the sand enters the Dome … " Thomas considered.

Clipper shook his head. "There's tons of metal sheet within those rods, I'm sure of it. They don't expect the thing to hold forever."

"Okay," Thomas said, still considering. "But shoot from this side," he pointed to the side facing away from the storm.

A few bullets were fired, and a triangular sheet collapsed. The group ran into the Dome, only to be greeted by raised guns from Order employees, dressed in black suits with a logo at the centre.

"Support mission!" Thomas bluffed quickly. "We'll explain later. Close the Dome first."

Thomas was glad for the black masks they were wearing, or the Order teams might have recognised Clipper.

"We want an explanation now," a man with a long beard and gruff voice ordered.

"Do you want to die in here? Close the Dome, quick!"

The same man gestured for another employee to do it, and from the way the employee responded, Thomas could tell that Long Beard was in charge. A new metal sheet slid out from one of the rods behind them, sealing the Dome.

"Now explain," Long Beard directed. "Who are you, and why aren't you in uniform."

Thomas nodded. "The Order suspects a spy in this area. We were sent to eliminate the threat."

"You have papers?"

Thomas shook his head. "Everything was destroyed. In the storm."

"Names."

Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise. Rocks and soil pounded against the Dome, and the noise grew unbearable.

"Your names!" The man yelled. "We need to confirm you are whom you claim you are."

"I'm Stevenson Wills, and these are my associates, Jonathan Harrison, Elke Bay, Willard Jones, and Harvey Bernhard," he said, shocking himself with how easily he was able to make up names.

Long Beard whipped out his phone and dialed something on it. The team lowered their weapons and huddled around Long Beard - a huge mistake, Thomas realised. He whipped out his Launcher and fired an electric light show upon the Order team, as their bodies crumpled to the ground, shivering continuously.

"Tie them up," Thomas directed, shocked at how calm he sounded himself.

"Nuh-huh," came a voice from behind. Thomas spun around to find two men, dressed in black.

One of them had a gun to Teresa's head.


	9. Chapter 8

"Real nice lies you came up with," the bald man - the one who had the gun - said through a frown. "You the lead'r, I 'spect?"

Thomas nodded fearfully - he didn't want to get Bennett into trouble. Teresa was refusing to look straight at him in the eye, as if doing so would oblige him to save her, stop him from doing the rational thing.

"Drop yer weapons, all of ye, or shey dies, ye gettin' me?"

Thomas dropped his Launcher without thinking twice. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Minho, Newt and Bennett did so after exchanging glances.

"Gud, guud. Now come up here, eh, leayder?"

Thomas walked forward, shaking his head subtly at Clipper. He didn't want to get the boy into trouble.

A coy, snake-like smile spread across the Order employee's face. One that reminded Thomas of Vince, the leader of the Right Arm, a terrorist organisation that had been part of WICKED's Variables, an organisation Thomas and the rest had once joined forces with, that they had to destroy after it had later broken loose.

And then Thomas brought up both his hands. His right fist collided with the man's jaw - he reached for the trigger, but Thomas's left palm was up, pushing the gun out of his hands. The bullet barely grazed Teresa's hair before shooting the other Order employee through the mouth, and both men crumbled to the floor. Thomas pounced on Baldie, slamming his face with two more punches for good measure.

Thomas rummaged for ropes, tape, wires (rubber-coated ones, anyway), anything he could find that they could use to tie the captives up.

It took them a few minutes to tie all the captives up, but none of them woke up.

"Wait!" Thomas shouted over the noise of rocks, soil and what-not pounding on the metal dome. "Don't we need to disable the Biocopy's telepathy? How _does_ it work inside this metal room, anyway?" The entire room was covered with metal, even the flooring, and Thomas had no clue how the man expected to make contact to the Order.

Clipper pointed to the peak of the dome, where a small receptor dish rested. "If you can destroy that, we're good!"

"If they haven't contacted them already," Thomas mused aloud. "I think we should just wait for the sandstorm to subside, then drag the … prisoners away."

"Away? To where!"

Thomas sighed. "I don't know, Bennett!" he yelled, pressing his palms close to his years to filter out the noise. "Maybe we could call Aharon and Jorge, tell them to get a Berg for us here?"

"We could camp in the city for a while!" Teresa chimed in. "Then again, that's the most likely place the Order will search for us."

"I don't think they've contacted the Order," Clipper said, squinting his eyes. "The Biocopy is the only one with telepathic capabilities. Unless Baldie or the other guy was the Biocopy."

"Why would they even care?" Newt questioned.

"Same reason why we care," Thomas pointed out. "The Biocopies are apparently loaded with truckloads of information, and all we need to do to access it is to remove the Swipe."

"The Biocopies are still at an experimental stage," Clipper informed. "Drake hasn't released them to the public yet, and it's rare for the Order to send Biocopies on a mission like this. This's the first. The final version, he plans to put obstructions in their brain so trying to remove or disable the Swipe will kill them."

Thomas nodded. It made sense - having an army of people filled with knowledge, completely loyal, but who were so easy to bend would be a huge vulnerability for Drake. "Anyway," he said, "The city's the only place we can go where we'll have a place to hide and stuff. That's where we're going, whether or not they've contacted the Order."

Nobody argued - even if that would be the place the Order would suspect first, or second, it was still much safer than an unprotected barren wasteland.

* * *

The storm soon subsided, and the team set out of the Dome, towards the city. Their car was largely damaged, so they tore off the upper part and converted the lower part into a trolley to tow the Order employees, along with some supplies to last them a day or so. Clipper sent a distress call to Aharon, saying: _The demise of the mission statement._ Apparently, _statement_ was to be interpreted as _site_ , and _demise_ as _arrive_.

Night-time fell, and the air felt chilling now. Thomas put on the Infrared goggles and looked at the Biocopies. They were finally awake, and were moaning and whimpering at the gag, struggling against their restraints. They would have contacted the Order by now if not for the metal cage that surrounded them, stopping all telepathic capabilities. They all shone a bright red under the Infrared goggles, except for one - it was Baldie, he was changing colour, dimming towards a yellow, before jerking back to warmth, and then becoming even warmer than the rest, before cooling down again.

"He's the one," Thomas announced. "The bald guy who tried to kill Teresa. He's the Biocopy."

The rest of the team nodded; they had obviously noticed this, too.

Thomas took out his pistol and fired at the rest of the Order team; their eyes rolled back into their heads, some screamed. Thomas was shocked at himself for feeling nothing. When did this happen? When was it that he grew so used to death?

The sound of a Berg's thrusters caught his attention. Thomas squinted out of the window. A Military Berg was landing in the street a few feet from their hideout. Thomas hoped that it was Aharon or Jorge, coming in response to Clipper's distress call, and not the Order.

A man came out of the Berg, a flashlight in his hands. He waved it around, and for a fleeting moment, the light fell over his face, illuminating his features.

It was neither Jorge, nor Aharon.

It was an Order employee.


	10. Chapter 9

"I thought you said the Order doesn't fly by Berg!" Thomas yelled at Clipper.

"Not usually," Clipper stated. "But I guess having a Biocopy stolen was too dangerous for them."

"Guys," Teresa interrupted. "Shut up and think about what we can do."

"I say we blast the brains out of him!" Minho suggested.

Thomas shook his head. "No way. I bet that's exactly what they're hoping we do, so they can spot us and bomb the klunk out of us."

"Noam is right," Clipper said. "We need to find a way to escape and avoid them until Jorge or Aharon fly in."

"What if they have anti-aircraft missiles?" Thomas asked desperately. "We can't risk Jorge or Aharon's lives right now."

Clipper sighed. "Maybe if we … " He didn't finish the statement, and Thomas knew the boy had no idea what to say.

"We spread out," Thomas suggested. "Spread out across the city, and first good shot anyone has, we shoot at the Berg." There was still only one of them outside the Berg.

"Shoot with what, Tommy?" Newt chimed in. "All we have are bloody rifles, and those are no good to blast a Berg to shreds."

An idea struck Thomas. "Clipper, is a Military Berg combustible?"

Clipper thought for a moment. "Nope. They're tough as hell."

But that still didn't hamper Thomas's idea. "What if we break one of the windows, then light a fire inside?"

"That would work. But who's gonna break the windows and light the fire?"

Thomas sighed. "Diesel. We need diesel, a couple of bows with arrows, and a flame."

Clipper looked around, then nodded towards their supply cart. "The Order team has those. Why?"

"We'll shoot burning arrows at them," Thomas explained. "Everyone pick a bow. Spread around the city. Clipper, you're with me." He said the last sentence with as much authority as he could put into his voice, leaving no room for disagreement.

Thomas picked a small bottle of diesel, a rag, a bow and a quiver of arrows. Clipper picked his own bow and arrows - Thomas wondered if the boy was experienced in handling these weapons. They left the Biocopy in the room, knocked out, gagged, bound, and well-hidden in a closet.

Thomas and Clipper sneaked out of a window, then ran along a narrow alley until they reached a tall building that had to be at least a hundred feet tall. Thomas's legs were numb by the time they reached the top of the building, and his arms heavy, from dragging Clipper along.

Clipper found a window from which they had a good shot at the Order Berg. Sure that he was pushing his body well beyond its physical limits, Thomas raced towards it. The man was shining his flashlight all over the city, and was, by now, a good thirty feet away from the Berg. Thomas could only hope his friends were okay.

 _Teresa,_ Thomas called in his mind. _Are you alright?_

 _Yeah, I'm fine_ , she replied. _Just really tired._

 _Yeah, me too. I have a good shot from here. You?_

 _Yeah, I think so._

Thomas dipped his rag in the diesel, then rubbed it on the tip of his arrow, before setting it ablaze with a matchbox. It illuminated the room, and Thomas hoped the Order wouldn't spot them. He pulled the string of his bow, and was about to shoot, when a blazing arrow whipped through the air from another building, and crashed into one of the windows of the Berg.

And then all hell broke loose.

Part of the Berg lit up in flames, someone started shouting from within it. Thomas released his own arrow, setting more of the Berg on flames. Someone else fired an arrow at the Berg, people started running out, firing bullets at the buildings. Someone was firing at the weak points of the Berg with incredible accuracy - that had to be Newt, their best archer. Some kind of an explosive was launched, but it fell somewehre near the base of their building and exploded without causing too much damage. Thomas released more arrows, making sure the flame was hidden until the arrow was fired. Clipper shot his own arrows from beside him, with commendable accuracy.

Then one of Thomas's arrows caused an explosion within the Berg, and the whole thing burst into flames.

Encouraged, Thomas began shooting at the entire street that was now populated by Order employees. Buildings collapsed, people burst into flames, shots were fired. A bullet nicked Thomas's ear, then more bullets were fired at the window. Fear gripped him; Thomas ducked, pulling Clipper down with him, as a spray of bullets entered through the window. They had to find another room.

Pulling Clipper along with him, and the supplies too, Thomas raced down a hallway, then turned right at an intersection, and then right again. A dead end marked the end of the hallway, but there was a window. They were now further from the Berg, but there were less obstructions in between. Thomas hoped with all his heart that his friends were alright. He resisted the urge to contact Teresa telepathically - the last thing he wanted to do was distract her in the middle of this battle.

Thomas released a spray of flaming arrows at the street and the clearing, specifically ensuring the death of anyone near the building where the Biocopy had been kept. Thomas was no great archer, but shooting at the street didn't require too much accuracy.

The Berg was reduced to ashes and rubbles; smoke billowed out of the flames that continued to lick at it.

And then someone's arrow hit the building where the Biocopy was being kept.

 _Shuck!_ Thomas thought. He grabbed Clipper's wrist and ran down the stairs, pulling the kid along with him.. They _had_ to keep the Biocopy alive, or all would have been for nothing.


	11. Chapter 10

Much of the lower part of the building was ablaze with fire, but their hideout seemed to be far enough from it. Thomas instructed Clipper to stay outside before he ran into the building. Down a hallway. Up a flight of stairs. Down another hallway, then a left turn. Thomas hoped he remembered the directions right.

He reached their hideout, which was still free of flames. He opened the closet and tugged the unconscious Biocopy out, then began dragging him out of the room.

Teresa and Newt bumped into him as he rounded a corner. They made it to the entrance, or exit, without any more surprises. They ran from the burning building, towards the main road, the Biocopy in tow. Thomas's legs had grown weary from all the running and climbing - exhausted, he collapsed to the ground, and so did his friends.

The sound of a car caught his attention. He squinted into the alley, and found a large car moving in the distance. If this was the Order again, Thomas was seriously going to lose it. But when the vehicle came closer, Thomas realised that what he had mistaken for a large car was in fact a small bus. The faint twilight illuminated the driver's features - it was Jorge.

Relieved, Thomas started frantically waving and shouting. Clipper put a hand to his mouth. "Stop," the boy ordered, a sudden authority filling his voice. "It might be a Biocopy for all you know."

Thomas didn't think that was possible - a Biocopy production took at least twenty-four hours, according to Clipper, and there was no way Drake could have obtained a Biocopy of Jorge in the past - but he quieted down nevertheless.

But Jorge must have already heard him, because the Hispanic man was now driving towards them, the headlights illuminating their street. The bus stopped right in front of them, and Thomas ended up going in last, hauling the Biocopy along with him.

"Well done, hermanos!" Jorge bellowed, clapping Minho and Clipper on the backs. "How'd you manage it?"

"Long story," Thomas said quickly. "We'll explain later. Where'd you get the bus?"

Jorge shrugged. "Aharon said they noticed your Berg trailing them, and sent anti-aircraft missiles after you. So I brought a bus with the Berg, then landed it a couple dozen miles from here. The Order blasted our Berg to bits, so we'll have to drive all the way back."

Thomas nodded, exhausted. "Yeah. The Order tried attacking us in the city, but we managed to destroy their Berg and stuff."

He looked around himself - the air conditioning was perfect, the air moist and cool. The seats were more like velveted benches, perfect for sleeping. It seemed like a luxury to Thomas. Minho and Newt were already snuggled into their own beds and sound asleep, while Clipper was sitting on his, animatedly describing the events of their mission to Jorge. That left only one bed, which meant Thomas had to share his with Teresa. Not that he minded at all.

"Looks like there's only one left for both of us," Thomas said, flashing an evil grin to Teresa, who had just laid down on her bed.

Teresa rolled her eyes and smiled. Thomas laid down next to her, putting an arm around her body, and letting their legs intertwine. A peaceful expression settled across his face as it brushed onto Teresa's.


	12. Chapter 11

Thomas rolled his eyes. "After all the Trials we've been through, this is a piece of cake." They were in the middle of a video call with Ava Paige, who, for some reason, had been panicking over their battle against the Order. "Now, are you sending the Grief Serum, or not?"

Ava nodded, then turned to look at someone who was off-screen. "Maldoon, send them a batch of Concentrated Grief Serum to Mount Meron. Use a Military Berg for the transportation arrangements."

* * *

They had just removed most of the Biocopy's Swipe with a Retractor, and Newt was injecting him with the Concentrated Grief Serum. The Biocopy would soon be shrieking, clawing and tugging at his restraints to no avail as the serum dissolved the Swipe in his brain. Clipper came up to them, proudly presenting his work on the week's edition of _The Draconian Lies_.

It included an article about their raid on the Order team in Mecca, but left out anything about the theft of the Biocopy - the last thing they needed was for Drake to change the access codes to enter the Maze. But it contained photographs and descriptions of the Order team, and then the Order's backup team, being destroyed by five teenagers.

"Are you sure Drake won't change the access codes anyway? Or increase security forces around the Mazes?" Thomas asked the Rebel Leader. "I mean, he knows about us stealing his Biocopy."

Clipper shook his head. "He knows we're behind _some_ information, just not about _what_ information we're behind. The existence of the Mazes are known only to some of Drake's closest associates. Not even Harvey knew about it. We found out about them from one of our best undercover agents who had managed to climb the ranks of the Order.

"Plus," he explained. "I've deliberately leaked information that we're planning a strike on some desalination plants. Drake's gonna automatically assume that's the information we want. For now, at least."

The boy grinned proudly.

"But what if Drake changes every single access code, everything?" Thomas pressed, still unconvinced. "Making everything the Biocopy knows useless?"

Clipper sighed. "He will, eventually. But the access codes to the Maze will come late on his priority list, I'm telling ya."

"What if Drake tracks the Biocopy?"

"I've already clipped him."

"Clipped him?" Thomas asked. He didn't like the sound of the word ' _clipped_ '.

"Drake puts trackers in all of his people, his employees, his Biocopies, everyone. A pair of devices - one in the neck, and one in the inner thigh. If the clippings aren't perfectly synchronised, the person blows up," the boy turned around and fished out a long, menacing-looking metal device - it had two parts that slid over each other, adjusting the length of the device, and a pair of sharp blades at each end. "This's what's I call a clipper. I made the thing last year, and've tested it on 'couple of fella's. The trackers were less advanced back when Harvey worked for the Order."

Thomas thought of Clipper's nickname quite differently after that. "So I suppose your friend Sarah invented a new system of executions."

Clipper's smile dropped at the mention of executions, and Thomas immediately felt guilty. He quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, how do we break into the Maze?"

"We–" Bennett was interrupted by a loud groan - Thomas turned around to see that it came from the Biocopy, who had just woken up. _Took him long enough_ , Thomas thought, then shuffled over to the Biocopy, who lay flat on the bed, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling.

"Good morning, shuckface," Minho greeted. "Feeling better now? Still in love with Drake Spinoza?"

The man lifted his head and turned his gaze to Thomas, but it seemed like the man was looking _through_ Thomas.

"I'm so sorry," was the first thing that came out of the man's mouth. "I don't even know why … "

"It's alright," Newt interrupted. "It was the bloody Swipe that did all that klunk to you. You're not loyal to that shuckface Drake anymore, and that's all that matters."

The man nodded, but looked unconvinced. "Who er ye guys?" he asked finally. "Why'd ye wunt me?"

"We're rebels," Clipper said in response. "We want to know how to break into the Maze. What's your name?"

The freed Biocopy blinked, his bald head shining brightly. "Oh, yuh. It's Timothy."

"Alright, Timothy. Do you remember anything about your past life? About the real Timothy? Before your Biocopy?"

Timothy blinked again, then paused before speaking. "I was a rebel," he said finally. "An assassin. Working against the Order. I was _very_ good at my job, and I bet I still am."

Thomas thought it must be hard to cope with such a massive change of moral code. Thomas, had, in fact, experienced a milder version when he got his memories back.

"Okay, so Timothy," Clipper began, "How do we break into the Maze?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"We want everything," Teresa added. "Access codes, map routes, everything."

Timothy took a deep breath, then began talking.


	13. Chapter 12

Thomas squinted through his binoculars as he leaned out of the hovering Berg, hoping to find anything remotely similar to what Timothy had called the landmark - a little dark hook in the soil, but there was nothing. And judging from Minho's uncharacteristic silence, the older boy had found nothing, either.

"That shuckin' doppleganger was lying," Minho spat, finally breaking the silence. "There's nothing here."

"Maybe we should just let _him_ find the landmarks," Thomas suggested. "Put his life on the line as a threat."

"Hey, you good-for-nothing shuck imposter!" Minho yelled into the main area. "Come out and show us where the hooks are! You fail, we shoot you!"

Timothy walked out of the room, and towards the hatch, a frown plastered across his face. "What– … ye werren't planning te spot them with yer naked eyes, werre yeh?"

"What?" Thomas asked, perplexed. How small were these landmarks?

Timothy pinched the bridge of his nose. "These thin's er buried in the soil, ye get me? Ye dun't just expect them to stick out of the soil for years, do ye? Like I sudd, these thin's er hot. Ye'll need infrared goggles."

Thomas sighed, then walked into the main area. "Clipper? You got some infrared goggles?"

Clipper nodded, then reached into the backpack he seemed to carry everywhere with him, pulling out a pair of infrared goggles and tossing them towards Thomas, who caught it with some difficulty. Muttering a thanks, Thomas returned to the hatch and pulled his goggles on, then squinted out again.

Through the goggles, the surroundings were a bright yellow, and the soil burned a furious red. There was no way they could spot anything at daytime. Sighing, Thomas called for Jorge to park the Berg, or rather set of connected Bergs, somewhere safe. He didn't like the idea of being so dangerously close to Tunis.

Jorge obliged, and steered the Berg a full one-eighty degrees. Thomas hoped they didn't have to do something of that sort with their mission.

* * *

Night-time eventually struck. Thomas rose from his place next to Newt, who was sound asleep, and made his way to the Berg hatch, squinting through his infrared goggles. There was nothing besides a deep blue everywhere. _Duh_ , he told himself. They were nowhere near the Mazes right now. He knocked on the cabin door, and waited. A haunted moan sounded in response. Sighing, Thomas pushed the door open, revealing a snoring Jorge, awkwardly leaned sideways across his chair.

Thomas approached him, but the snores stopped abruptly and the man's head cocked up, turning to face Thomas.

Jorge groaned. "Why'd you wake me up, hermano?"

Thomas jabbed his right index finger over his shoulder. "Night time's struck. We need to get going."

Jorge sighed, and steered himself to face the controls. A few buttons and moving of the joystick, or _whatever that was called_ , and they were flying.

* * *

"Clipper, you got the weapons-disabling scripts ready?"

"For the hundredth time, Noam, yes. I have it all ready, even though I think they'll just unleash the Grievers on us."

That wouldn't be a problem. All they had to do would be to pull the switch out of the Barrel.

"Okay, listen up," Thomas said, clapping his hands once to get . "Three things to remember. One - do not remove your masks, and fake a weird voice. We might have a situation in future where we want the Order to trust us. And don't mention Mount Meron, ever. Two - do not lose hold on your weapons. Those are the only weapons that will work, and we don't want the Order to get hold of that. Three - to kill a Griever, just reach into its butt and pull its shuck intestines out, that good?"

After an odd, unexpected silence, Newt finally spoke, his face twisted with confusion: " _What?_ "

Teresa put her hand out before Thomas could open his mouth. She sighed, then spoke: "On the tail end of the Griever, what WICKED called the Barrel, you need to reach into its flesh. There will be this switch, a lever. Pull it hard, and the things will die. Good that?"

The Vaidehites and Clipper nodded in consent. Minho looked almost bored; Timothy stared into the distance. Newt turned to face Thomas. "Really, Tommy? Was that so buggin' hard to say? Minho been rubbin' his klunk off on ya?"

Minho snickered. "Why, _jealous_ , Newt?" he asked in a sappy tone, mockingly batting his eyelashes. "Just because Thomas obviously–"

"That's enough," Clipper interrupted curtly. "Let's get going."

Thomas nodded, then looked through his goggles one last time to ensure that the landmark was, indeed, a mere half a mile from their Berg.

The septet trudged through the sand, Clipper's grip firm on his powerful little phone. A few minutes later, Clipper's phone started giving out a soft beeping sound. The group stopped immediately.

"Alright," Clipper said. "We're five metres away from the three-fifty metre radius. I'm gonna disable the Outer Ring, and then we're gonna run like hell. There's always a chance that there are some other security measures we don't know of."

Thomas nodded, and the Rebel team walked as close as they possibly could to the Outer Ring without triggering the alarms or being caught by camera. Clipper tapped a button on his phone.

And then they ran.

The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of their heels colliding with the fluffy sand, and their heavy breaths - especially Clipper's, who was being pulled along by Thomas and Teresa. Minho was first to reach the centre of the Outer Ring, and begun digging through the soil with his bare hands at Clipper's notice, just as the rest caught up with him. The landmark was a tar black hook, about two inches long, and the curve of the hook about half a centimetre in diameter.

But Timothy had said that the landmarks were a scalding hot piece of metal. "Minho!" Thomas yelled, "Wait!"

But it was too late.

Minho jumped back a full metre, knocking Newt down as he did so, then begun furiously wiping his cooked hands on the now-cool soil.

Teresa tore a piece of her black suit and wrapped it around the hook, then tugged. The hook broke loose, and something began rising from the soil, spinning around an axis parallel to a line on the ground. Thomas took a step back, his right hand instinctively pushing Clipper back by the shoulder. The team scrambled away from the rising coffin.

Thomas's eyes widened in shock when they saw they were Griever Pods. But then the pods opened, and a misshapen arm hung out of it, Thomas realised they weren't Grievers at all.

They were Bulb Monsters.

And there were at least thirty of them.


	14. Chapter 13

"Okay, listen up!" Thomas yelled. "We need to break their joints, and we can't use our pistols, because the things will absorb our bullets and shoot them back at us. Good that?"

"We need to burst the Bulbs," Teresa clarified, glaring at Thomas then rolling her eyes. It was typical of her to mock him even when their lives were on the edge.

"What about Transvices?" Newt hollered - his feigned voice incredibly exaggerated.

Thomas shook his head. "No way. They'll shoot the Transrays back at us, and that isn't a good thing."

"Arrows?"

"No! You can't throw anything at them!"

Thomas whipped out his long knife, and charged at two Bulb Monsters at once. A pair of blades charged for his head, Thomas pulled away and slammed the blade of his knife into one of the Bulbs of the first Bulb monsters, then retracted it and slammed its butt into a Bulb of the other. The Bulb Monsters froze, and Thomas took the opportunity to stab out two more of the Bulbs, and then they came back to life, trying, pointlessly, to stab at him with strange blades and appendages.

The last time that this had happened, he was being a slinthead to Teresa for trying to save his life in the Scorch, designating her as the agent of everything bad that had occurred to her.

In a strange, twisted way, he felt glad for the Trials. No - he hated how so many died, he hated the physical and emotional suffering they'd all been through. But they had been toughened by those Trials. He knew too well that he wasn't invincible, but nevertheless, he felt no fear.

And for that, he was glad.

His back slammed against something that was somehow both hard and squishy at the same time. He spun around. Two more Bulb monsters, charging at him. The enemy was on all sides. He dodged a pair of blades, then kicked and elbowed and stabbed at everything that shone.

A pair of claws grabbed him by the suit and slammed him against the chest of another Bulb monster, then the first Bulb Monster's blades came down to swipe at his head. In a twisting action, he bobbed his neck away, and the pair of blades slashed across the entire necklace of Bulbs off the Bulb Monster he had been pushed against, and the thing died. Surprising him further, so did the other Bulb Monster.

That gave him an idea. Each time he'd fought the Grievers, the 'dive move', as Minho had called it, had come to his advantage. Bringing his knife up, he stabbed the Bulb Monster's claws off and freed himself from its grasp. And then he ran, backwards, until he hit another Bulb monster in its back. The Bulb Monster that was on his tail, lunged at him, and Thomas let himself fall to his knees, letting the blades snap the neck of the other Bulb Monster, and the both their lights went out as they crashed to the ground.

He looked around him. Nine Bulb Monsters were collapsed onto the ground. Minho and Jorge were fighting three Bulb Monsters each. Newt was swinging his machete at two. Timothy was killing the creatures left and right, yet none of them made a move against him. Thomas's eyes fell on Teresa. She was simultaneously protecting Clipper and fighting seven Bulb monsters with her spear, but the fire in her eyes was dying, and she was fighting with less conviction.

Thomas ran forward, then slashed at the Bulbs of two of her foes, distracting them. The monsters took the bait. They froze for an instant, allowing Thomas to take a step back and stab at one more Bulb, before spinning around and charging at him. Thomas distracted one of them, increased the space between his foes to play his trick.

He was about to run at one of them, when a burst of energy ripped through the air, burning the creature to char. More lightning struck, more creatures crumpled.

WICKED's artificial lightning that had been used as a Variable for them. Who said the Order didn't have access to that, too?

But something was wrong. The lightning wasn't attacking them. It was attacking the Bulb Monsters.

Deafening explosions ripped through the air, as Bulb Monsters collapsed to the ground, a heap of char. And then the storm subsided, and the skies cleared as if nothing had ever happened at all. Clipper was tapping at his phone. Everyone looked dumbfounded - Thomas could see this even despite the masks, expect Clipper, who was smirking victoriously.

"You hacked the lightning, Bennett?" Minho asked with an exaggerated hollow voice, limping over to the boy. His leg was bleeding.

Bennett laughed. "Was my last resort," he said in a feigned crystalline voice, shrugging. "I knew about the lightning, so I built an interface to control the nature of the strikes. So I controlled the things. Made them strike only the tallest objects - you know, like how lightning _should_ behave. And, voila!"

"You're a shuck genius."

"Okay, enough talking," Teresa said between heavy breaths, faking a scratchy voice. She was doubled over, hands on her knees, and she looked like she had been scratched on every inch of her body, her black suit peeling off everywhere. "Let's get going."

Thomas fired a Transvice shot at the slab of dull grey rock that lay beneath the coffin, just like the Biocopy had instructed. The slab gave away, and a misty layer beneath it cleared, revealing a small pit, like the whole thing were a drain.

"Go," Clipper instructed. "Do _not_ use your flashlights, and shoot at anything that moves or wears black."

"Besides ourselves," Thomas added, remembering to fake an overtly gruff voice. "Or the Order's Gladers."

Minho jumped in first, followed by Newt, Jorge, Timothy, Clipper, and Teresa. Thomas took the rear. His feet hit the ground, but he lost his balance and landed on the heel of his right palm, somehow managing to dislocate his shoulder in the process. Wincing in pain, he struggled with his shoulder, righting it.

Thomas looked rose, absorbing his surroundings. They were in a tunnel. A concrete wall stood, a mere few feet to his left. The other side ended in blackness. Thomas was quick to realise that it was a chute similar to the one they had encountered after their escape from the Maze.

They walked towards the opening. Thomas squinted at it, wishing his eyes would adjust to the dark faster. Finally, he saw traces of a slide down.

"It's a chute," Newt said finally, his voice sounding hollow and haunted.

Minho started at him immediately: "Really? You're a shuckin' genius. No wonder you–"

Clipper pushed the Minho down, the latter releasing a high-pitched scream. Thomas stifled a laugh. Clipper winked at him before jumping into the tunnel himself. The rest of the Rebels followed suit, with Thomas, as usual, taking the rear. Teresa let out a cheerful shriek - her mood seemed to change every minute.

They whipped through the tunnel, Thomas resisting the urge to throw up. It felt strikingly similar to the chute that let them escape the Maze, except the smell didn't smell of machinery or oil - it smelt of sand. The sides of the tunnels weren't greasy, either - they felt sandy. And it was significantly longer than that tunnel.

The slope of the tunnel decreased as it rounded a turn, and Thomas's feet hit Teresa's head, just like they had the time they were escaping the Maze. The whole ordeal seemed like they were going back in time - from safety to the Scorch to the Maze escape to the Maze.

And then they were met by a blinding light, and before Thomas knew it, he was being chucked out of the chute, sending him sprawling on all fours, onto Teresa. He scooted away from her, but this time, he swallowed his vomit.

They were greeted by dozens of black-suited men and women with weapons in their hands - Launchers, pistols, Transvices. Little did they know they wouldn't work - only the Rebels' weapons were whitelisted by Clipper's phone, that also acted as a weapons manager. Thomas got his feet under him, then raised his Transvice - one that actually worked - at a guard.

"Who're you!" the guard yelled.

"What's the route to the Mazes?" Thomas asked, ignoring her question.

"There're more of us than there are of you."

"Are there?" Thomas whipped his Transvice to the side, then fired ruthlessly at the guards, decimating their numbers. The guards were now clicking feverishly at their triggers to no avail. "What about now?"

The guard pointed a trembling finger to her side. "There," she stammered out, obviously realising they'd lost. "It's labelled."

"Thanks," Thomas said, approaching the guard, then spinning her around, placing a Transvice to her head. His friends took care of the rest.

"We're taking the four of you hostage," Minho announced, "And if you lead us anywhere dangerous, we'll gouge your eyeballs out and torture the rest out of your shuck bodies."

The guards nodded frightfully. Not loosening his grip on the Transvice by the slightest, Thomas led the Rebels, following the hostage's directions, until they reached a large hall with five ladders. "Each of these," one of the guards stammered out - a man, "Leads to a Maze."

Thomas nodded, then pushed each of the guards towards a ladder. "Climb," he directed, his Transvice pointed at one of them. The guards did as told, and the Rebels broke up to follow them. Thomas and Clipper ended up together, along with the guard Thomas had first spoken to.

Thomas helped Clipper out of the Griever Hole. The sky was a dull grey twilight, which meant the Ending had already been triggered. And then they took off running, through the Maze. Past the towering, ivy-coated walls, rounding corners and cutting off pieces of ivy as they did so, staring at the signs that lied: "World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department".

Despite everything, he was a Runner again.


	15. Chapter 14

"Why'd you think they unleashed Bulb Monsters on us?" Thomas asked Clipper. Those things were easy to destroy. Well - possible to, anyway.

Clipper shot him a weary grin, his face a taut red. "You might not think so, but I actually keep a lot of things to myself till I'm asked for it. Order's Bulb Monsters, as you call 'em, actually have the Bulb death thing disabled by default. Order members entering are supposed to enable them. Let's just say I know a loophole in it."

Thomas just shook his head in disbelief.

It didn't take them too long before they reached the Glade.

This Glade was much different from the Glade he knew. It was populated by both boys and girls, and Thomas could tell in an instant that this was Group E, the mixed-gender Glade. And some of them carried infants in their arms. That wasn't all. The Glade was maintained neater than either of WICKED's experiments. Five towers stood within the Glade. One near each Door - a two-legged building framing the Door, maybe a way to retrieve people stuck in the Maze, and one surrounding the Box, perhaps an observation tower. Something was suspended from the central tower. A slimy ball of … a Griever! They had decorated their Glade with a dead Griever, of all things!

And the Beetle Blades were all dead - Clipper's work, of course.

It wasn't long before the kids noticed them. Some of them held out weapons, spears, knives and bows, arrows nocked and pointed at them. Thomas, Bennett and the hostage all raised their arms to say that they meant no harm, but Thomas didn't lose his grip on his Transvice.

"We're here to help you!" Thomas yelled. "We're here to get you out!"

Two kids made their way out of the crowd, frowning - one boy, one girl. Thomas could tell from their gestures, and the gestures of the Gladers with respect to them, that these were the shanks who ran their Glade. The boy had a name tag that read 'Hilber', while the girl's read 'Thera'.

"We don't need your crocked help," the boy said, his voice gruff and hollow. "We're good here."

Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise. These guys didn't want to get out? "Did the supplies come today?"

The two Leaders exchanged shocked glances. "No," Thera finally stammered out. "But we guess it must be an error on WICKED's part."

Thomas was surprised they knew the name - well, false name, of whom Thomas and the rest of _their_ Gladers had just referred to as their 'Creators'. He shook his head. "You'll stop getting supplies from now on. And you know the Grievers? The creatures that live out there in the Maze?"

Hilber nodded. "Yeah."

"They'll attack. They'll attack every night. The Doors won't close, and the Grievers will attack, killing you off one by one. And then the survivors, you'll be marched a hundred miles through the Scorch, a barren wasteland with extreme temperatures, fighting these zombie-like creatures called Cranks, be tortured emotionally, then battle more creatures, like these Griever-Crank hybrids called Bulb Monsters, some of you will get this crazy brain disease and you'll go crazy and die, then you'll get tortured more emotionally, and then cloned into the thousands." He paused. " _The Maze was just the beginning._ "

The children looked aghast; the leaders took a step back. Thera frowned. "How do _you_ know all this?" she hissed.

"Because I once lived in a Maze similar to yours. Except, there was a purpose in the Maze I came from. You've been put here to serve the wishes of a man named Drake. WICKED has nothing to do with any of this."

"Who _are_ you crakes?" A dark-skinned boy asked, stepping out of the crowd to study them. His name tag read 'Heistberger'. "And put your crockin' masks away."

Thomas sighed. "Look, I'll explain. Can you shanks just put down your bows? You might fire by accident, and I don't exactly fancy getting shot to death by the very people we're trying to save here."

The archers exchanged glances, Hilber gave them a curt nod, and then the bows were lowered.

"We're rebels," Thomas explained. "We rebel against the Order. Against Drake–"

"Why save us?" Heistberger interrupted.

"Because you're important to Drake. Rescuing you will be a major setback to Drake. And we hope you'll help us in our Rebellion."

Hilber snapped his fingers twice, and eight kids stepped out of the crowd to surround the two Leaders. Or maybe they had a hierarchy between them - Thomas had no clue. They discussed something in low voices for about five minutes, before breaking apart.

"We'll follow you," Hilber finally announced. "But remember there are more of us than there are of you, so if you try anything, the consequences will _not_ be good."

Thera rolled her eyes. "There are probably tons of them out there."

Thomas shrugged. "There are lots of Rebels pretending to work for the Order, spying for us, but you're going to meet only about eight of us. And you aren't the only Maze."

"What?" Hilber asked, obviously surprised by the information. "What do you mean we aren't … "

"There are five Mazes," Thomas explained. "Yours is the only one with people of both genders. Now let's get going, before the Grievers come."

* * *

"Why're you taking us to the Cliff!" Hilber yelled, shoving Thomas backward. "You want to get us killed!"

Thomas put his hand out to shut the Leader up, then reached for a rock on the ground. "Watch this," he said, then tossed the rock right at the Griever Hole. He couldn't see it, but he'd been here so many times he could easily judge its position. The rock disappeared. "We need to jump in there." He took out his knife and tore a long length of ivy off the wall, then tied its tip to that of another, before tossing it into the Griever Hole.

One by one, the Gladers leapt into the Griever Hole, all of them hitting almost perfectly. Thomas took the rear, jumping in after Bennett. He passed through the icy gray wall, and managed to land on his feet. He weaved his way through the crowd, towards the computer station, and punched in the code words. The sound of a door sliding open reverberated through the room.

"Float, catch, bleed, death, stiff?" A girl asked from behind him - her nametag read Lisa. "Cheery, huh?"

"As cheery as everything the Order did to you," Thomas answered, then paused. "Or what the Flare did to all of us."

"The Flare?"

"Yeah, the Flare. We'll explain later. Now move."

Thomas and Clipper's group ended up being the last to arrive. The other groups had, apparently, been much more eager to escape, and actually had Runners - Thomas wondered if one of the motivating factors for the Groups to escape was really to meet people of the opposite gender.

There wasn't too much of intermingling between the groups as they were organised into rows to prevent a stampede, the guard whom Thomas had held hostage walked up to him. Thomas's grip on his Transvice tightened. But then the guard said: "Thank you."

"Huh?" Thomas asked. "Thank me? _You_ thank me?"

She nodded. "I've worked for the Order for years. I've always _hated_ them. But I thought nothing could be changed. But witnessing what you guys did today … Now I know things really can be changed. Whoever you are, I want to help you." She held her hand out. "Emmy."

Thomas accepted the handshake, but some instinct took over, and he refrained from revealing his own name. "Go talk to him," he said, pointing to Clipper. "He's the Leader."

"Alright!" Minho yelled, clapping twice to attract everyone's attention. "Our dear Leader here's gonna do some magic, then we'll climb out of here. Good that?"

Minho had barely finished speaking when a blaring alarm ripped through the air. People started craning their necks, squinting around, trying to find the source of the alarm. The alarm lasted only fifteen seconds, after which it was replaced by an announcement.

"Bennet Israeli! We know you're here, and we know why you're here. You have ten seconds to reveal yourself, or we'll have to kill the loot you've taken from us."

The Order was in town.

 **Author's note:**

 **The Order refers to Clipper as "Bennett Turner" when he's a hero, and "Bennett Israeli" when he's a fugitive. I think we all know why.**

 **Also, the names:**

 **\- Hilber - comes from David Hilbert**

 **\- Thera - comes from Emmy Noether**

 **\- Heistberger - comes from Werner Heisenberg**

 **\- Lisa - comes from Lisa Randall**

 **\- Joseph - comes from Joseph Polchinski**


	16. Chapter 15

Clipper pushed forward towards the exit, but Thomas held him back. "We're not letting them take you, Clipper. Trust me, they won't hurt any of those shanks out there as long as they think they have the chance of getting them back. And they'll just be pushing them through the Trials if you go."

"TEN!"

Emmy, the old Order guard, ran forward. "I know a backdoor out of here that Drake does not," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice. "These units date back to Hannah's times. My parents worked here, and they made this backdoor in case of terrorist attacks."

"Where is it?" Bennett asked, stepping forward.

"NINE!"

Emmy gulped. "We need to get into the Maze, then jump down the Box hole. There's–"

Minho was on the guard in a second. "You're trying to get us killed! Like Dickson, back in the Glade!" Emmy looked at Thomas for help - he grabbed Minho by the arms. "Minho! Listen to what she has to say, first!"

"EIGHT!"

"We already listened!" Minho yelled.

"Look!" Emmy practically screamed. "We need to go down _with_ the Box. That's the only way to avoid getting sliced."

"Alright, how do we get the Box back up?" Thomas asked, glaring at Minho. "And how do we get the Box to go down once we're in?"

"SEVEN!"

"Leave that to me," she answered, then handed Thomas a walkie-talkie. "To tell me when to move the Box back down."

Thomas gulped. Could he trust her? What if she was leading them right into the Order's claws? But the Order had no reason to bait them. And if she was still working with the Order, she would have to have been the one who contacted them. But there was no way she could have possibly done so - according to Clipper, the guards didn't get telepathic capabilities. What if she wasn't just an ordinary guard? But they'd captured her randomly. She was on their side, had to be.

Emmy reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, then stuffed it into Thomas's palm. "Map of the compound."

"Okay," he said finally, then proceeded to usher the crowd up the ladders of the different Mazes. Like before, he led Group E, along with Clipper.

"SIX!"

"What do we do after we're down the Box hole?" Thomas called into the walkie-talkie.

"There will be a Flat Trans control panel, camouflaged in the wall once you go down. You'll find it only if you're looking for it. The password is in the map I gave you."

"Where will the Flat Trans lead?"

"FIVE!"

"An abandoned compound outside the ring of Tunis." So that's what she meant by 'the compound'.

"All the Box holes have the Flat Trans?"

"Yeah, all of them lead to the compound."

Thomas ran as fast as he could, pulling Clipper along and taking the rear of the crowd. The next count didn't come for five minutes.

"FOUR! Bennett Israeli, this is no joke. We will be slaying your loot and you won't be able to do a _thing_!"

 _Their_ _loot_. That was what the Order thought of the two hundred people with them. They reached the Glade in another twenty minutes then shuffled into the central tower, towards the Box hole - the Order had only one count remaining. Thomas doubled over, staring at the lid of the Box hole. The Box had still not arrived.

"Where's the Box?" Thomas hissed into the walkie-talkie.

"Should be there any time now," came a muffled reply.

And then it happened. The double-doors of the Box grated open, revealing that the Box had arrived. The Gladers didn't hesitate - they leapt into the Box, Thomas and Clipper going last.

"You can bring the Box down, now!" Thomas yelled into his walkie-talkie.

"ONE! Bennett Israeli, we are infiltrating the compound. You can bid goodbye to your loot, now."

The double-doors of the Box slid close, and then they started moving.

It felt strange and nostalgic to be back in the Box. The darkness, the stale, dusty air. It all seemed familiar to Thomas now. Nothing frightening, not a horrid memory either. The Box reached the ground floor almost immediately - the misleading time length was applied only while going up. The Gladers scrambled out. Thomas searched the walls for the Control Panel, hoping, desperately, that Emmy had been telling the truth.

"I have one last thing to say," Emmy's voice came out of the walkie-talkie. "They're probably going to find me now, execute me. They'd have found footage of me helping you. I just want to say, that I worked for the Order, to keep my family, my children safe. I know it sounds selfish, but there was nothing I could have done alone. But then you came along, freeing the Mazes, something I'd thought was impossible. And now I'd rather die from a quick bullet than die in an interrogation room in Tunis."

Tears stung at Thomas's eyes upon hearing the guard's story. "I'll never forget you," he managed. "And I'm sorry for all the klunk Minho gave you."

"Just remember, that above all that, this was just me keeping my promise to my childhood friend. Her name was Emma."

And then a gunshot was heard. He couldn't see her, but the nature of her last breath told him she died smiling.

Clipper waved him over - he had opened the Flat Trans and was sending the Gladers through.

And then they stepped into the icy grey wall.


	17. Chapter 16

Teresa's group entered from the side of the opposite wall just after Clipper sealed off their Flat Trans. The relief to see her alive and well was overwhelming.

Finally, Thomas took a moment to shine his flashlight around and absorb his surroundings, forcing away thoughts about Emmy. They were in a large, dusty, concrete-walled room with drab grey flooring and no furniture. This was the interior of the compound that Emmy had talked of. Finally, someone's flashlight illuminated a door. A sign hung crookedly around a hook on the door. Thomas could faintly make out the letters, 'E', 'X', and 'I'.

"I guess we're supposed to go out there," he whispered, no longer bothering to fake his voice.

Some nods and 'yeah's broke out through the crowd, and people began moving towards the exit. Minho reached first and pulled the heavily battered handle. It snapped in two. "Oh, shuckin' great," he muttered, then kicked the door out of frustration. The door crumbled to the floor, jagged pieces hanging out of the hinges.

The crowd moved through the opening. Thomas went last, shining his flashlight one last time before he left the room to make sure no one was left behind. He ran forward to catch up with Minho - Thomas was the only one who had the map. He unfolded it and analysed the route they had to take.

"Okay, this corridor turns left later on, go with it. Then we need to take the third right, then turn some kind of a U-turn, followed by a left, the only left there. I suppose we'll find an exit there."

They followed the route provided on the map, through the smelly air, and the only sound being that of their feet colliding with the ground. They reached the end of the trail quicker than Thomas expected.

"Where the Scorchis the exit?" Thomas muttered aloud, shining his flashlight into every nook and corner of the dead end.

"In the Scorch," Teresa deadpanned.

Thomas's back collided with the wall, and lights flickered on. It surprised him that there were any lights in this place. He squinted at the ceiling, his eyes only starting to adjust to the light.

"There's something up there!" Someone shouted. A thin-edged rectangular tile sat on the ceiling.

"How are we meant to open that?" Teresa asked, craning her neck to see it.

"I guess we're supposed to climb on one another," Thomas guessed. "Make a tower of humans."

Minho was already carrying a boy on his back before Thomas completed his sentence. People crowded around them, some helped Minho with the foundation, others climbed. Thomas found himself somewhere on the second storey of the human tower - perhaps the worst place to find oneself in that tower, considering he now needed to both balance on someone's shoulders, _and_ carry a ton of people on his back. Somebody tried to run up the tower, then fell flat on her butt, sending shockwaves through the tower and almost making Thomas fall off. And then someone else climbed, more slowly and in a steady fashion, and managed to scale the tower, then push the tile open.

Sand poured in, Thomas shook it off his head. Whoever had scaled the tower started pulling people out, relieving some of the weight on Thomas's shoulders. Somebody passed Thomas a rope, he passed it on.

The rope had barely made it to the top, when Clipper sneezed from the ground floor. Somebody flinched at the sneeze, sending a light shockwave through the tower. And then someone screamed, yelling something about their shoulder, and the entire tower collapsed.

"Great," Thomas said with a groan. "Just great."

"I'm sorry," Clipper said sheepishly.

"You're sorry?" Minho asked, scoffing. "Where's the shuckface who flinched like a mad shuck upon a _sneeze_ , of all shucking things?"

The rope was lowered, and people started climbing out, those who were part of the tower not forgetting to grab their weapons and put on their shoes. Thomas climbed out of the compound, then released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. They were in the Scorch, and it was still dark. And cold. Now they just had to find their–

The sound of a Berg's thrusters caught Thomas's attention. Thomas looked up, his eyes widening at what he saw. It was another military Berg.

"Oh, no. Oh, shuckin' _no_ ," Thomas whispered. "Don't let it be the Order. Please don't let it be the–"

And then another Berg - a larger one, but a military Berg all the same - entered the scene, flying perpendicular to the motion of the first Berg. A flash of light left the Berg and pounded the first one, which burst into flames and flew through the air, crashing to the ground in a massive explosion. In the corner of his eye, Thomas noticed Clipper recording everything on his phone. And then the second Berg moved towards the crowd. Someone beside Thomas took a step back. Thomas, on the other hand stood rooted to the ground, frozen in fear.

LEDs lit up across the front of the Berg. The word 'WICKED' flashed in white.

"WICKED," Thomas muttered aloud. "What are _they_ doing here?"

But this was wrong. WICKED didn't like to advertise a lot when they flew. What if this were a trap? The Berg lowered itself onto the ground, the LEDs dimmed slightly, and the hatch door slid open. Thomas instinctively tightened his grip on the Transvice and pointed it at the hatch. A man walked out of the Berg, arms raised in surrender, and recognition immediately flashed across Thomas's mind as he saw the man's face.

"David," he muttered aloud, then lowered his Transvice. David was among the crew at the Safe Haven Berg they had entered at the end of the Scorch Trials.

"Come on in," David shouted, lowering his arms. "The Chancellor had me keeping an eye out for you in case you got in trouble. And it looks like you did, eh? The Order smashed your Berg."

" _Which_ Chancellor?" If this was some Janson business, Thomas was seriously going to lose it.

David rolled his eyes. "Chancellor Ava Paige. Who else?"

Thomas turned to face Clipper. "These Bergs will survive at Meron?"

Clipper nodded, and the crowd rushed into the Berg, Thomas going last.

"You were real nice to me last time," David said, clapping his palm on Thomas's shoulder.

"Uh … yeah, sorry about that," Thomas muttered sheepishly - he had pulled a gun to David's forehead after he'd tried to throw Brenda out of the Berg. He didn't quite regret it, though.

The man chuckled. "'tis alright, Thomas. I've heard lots 'bout you. You got my respect."

After some luxurious showers, medical attention and delicious food, Thomas took a seat near the back of the main section, next to Teresa, who was sound asleep, her head propped on his shoulder. Thomas was glad he no longer needed that stupid mask.

"Please, tell us something." Thomas turned his head to see Lisa and a boy named Joseph seated an aisle apart from them - Joseph was the one talking. "What's going on?"

Thomas sighed. It was such a long story. "I take it you don't know about the Solar Flares?"

Joseph shook his head.

Thomas closed his eyes and recited the standard, canonical narration of the Solar Flares, the release of the Flare, and WICKED's failure in finding a treatment, and success in finding a vaccine. He continued, telling them everything he knew about Drake, Tunisia, and the Order.

"You're all Immune," he concluded. "And if you aren't, we can immunise you. But it's our hope that you will join us." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Joseph and Lisa exchanged a glance. "Let's just be safe for now," Lisa whispered.

"Maybe we are," Joseph replied.

A smile broke out on Thomas's face, recalling having the same dialogue with Teresa after the feigned rescue from the Maze.


	18. Chapter 17

**Author's note:**

 **This chapter starts off fluffy, but the second part is going to be quite important.  
**

"Bye Bren," Minho said, closing his laptop.

Thomas chuckled. "Bren, huh?" That was a funny nickname.

Minho's eyes widened. "When the shuck did _you_ get here?"

"Before you. I was in the bathroom. Of course, you were too busy in your conversation with _Bren_ ," Thomas batted his eyelashes mockingly, "To notice that people were listening to your … love life."

Minho's cheeks turned red. "Shut the … wait, what do you mean _people_?"

Thomas gestured around himself. Minho looked around, his expression proving that he hadn't noticed Newt's presence. Newt waved at him.

"That's just because the screen of my laptop blocked your existence!" Minho yelled, getting on the defensive. "And besides, Thomas, it's difficult to notice an ugly shank like you over a background of a toilet."

"Thanks."

"Is that the only comeback you can come up with?"

"I do love ponies."

"And you will not eat one."

"Hey, what're you going to name your child?"

Minho frowned. "Why do you care?"

Thomas just shrugged in response.

"I don't know," Minho said, suddenly sounding serious, and … fatherly? "But Brenda was suggesting the surname as Brenho."

A grin crept up to Thomas's face. "Brenho? So _Bren_ calls you _Ho_?"

Minho stood up to glare at Thomas. That was the first time Thomas noticed he was now slightly taller than Minho. Taller than the almighty Minho! He liked that.

And then Minho pounced on him. Thomas dodged, sending Minho crashing to the floor. Realising he couldn't win a conventional fight against the former Keeper of Runners, Thomas slyly leaned his back against the wall, then just as Minho was about to pounce on him again, he dodged, sending Minho colliding face-first with the wall. Minho spun around, sending a fist in Thomas's direction; Thomas ducked and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him by the shoulders and sending him sprawling on the floor.

Minho got his limbs under him, then turned around to face Thomas, his eyes flaring with anger. He shoved Thomas hard in the shoulders, sending him a full two feet backwards before crashing onto the ground - trying, to no avail, to catch his balance. Minho was on him in a second, punching him in the stomach. Thomas pushed him off with all his strength.

They rolled around the room, punching each other and trying to gain the advantage, if only for a split second. Neither showed any chance of winning - well, not like 'winning' had even been defined.

Fortunately, Clipper entered the room. He rolled his eyes at the scene before him. "Seriously?"

"He started it!" Thomas protested, pushing Minho off himself.

Clipper rolled his eyes again. "We have … more important matters to attend to. Come meet me in the secret hideout."

* * *

The secret hideout, of course, referred to Clipper's hidden room - the room where they'd first met Clipper. Thomas saw on the computer screen, from the corner of his eyes, the day's edition of _The Draconian Lies_ being prepared before the upload onto whatever secret servers the boy had access to.

"The Swipe removal is over," Clipper informed. "We're lucky the Order didn't try to control their subjects. Maybe they were afraid to lose them, which they already have."

"They're all on our side?" Newt asked. "They're gonna join the Rebels?"

Clipper nodded. "But screw it," he scratched a few lines on his paper. "That's not why I called you all here. Drake has obviously realised there's no hope for him to recapture his … _loot_." He said the last word with spite. "So he has other plans."

"What?"

The Rebel Leader sighed. "The point of the Trials was not only to strengthen the Biocopies, but to prepare their emotional strength to Drake's advantage, so that the Biocopies don't need to be completely unemotional - emotion is always a major motivator for the body. But now that he's failed at that, Drake will let go the advantage of emotional strength."

Thomas thought the boy was failing to make his point. "So how's he going to strengthen them? Physically, I mean."

Bennett scratched two more lines on his notepad. "He wants an interface to just program the Biocopies into becoming stronger."

"But how? Harvey's Biocopy process didn't go well in preserving his intellect, right?"

Bennett sighed again. "And that's why Drake is searching for volunteers to take the position of Lead Tech. There are some in Tunis who have access to good education. Drake will get someone, I'm sure of it."

And just then, an idea struck Thomas's mind. "What if … what if one of _us_ takes the offer? What if _I_ take the offer?"

Bennett frowned. " _What!_ "

"Think about it. It will give us complete access to every bit of the code that runs on the Biocopies. We–"

"I already have that," Bennett interrupted, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

Thomas sighed, then shook his head. "All you have are backups. Sure, you can fork it, whatever, but you can't actually modify the code running on the Biocopies." Clipper was now staring at him, his eyes gleaming with hope. Thomas continued speaking: "What I'm saying is, I can go there, work undercover against Drake as Lead Tech, then run a script that kills the Biocopies, something."

"Well … " Clipper scratched his hair, then wrinkled his nose. "Killing the Biocopies would show up in the testing phases, but … "

An idea occurred to Thomas. "A Failsafe!" he exclaimed. "Build in a function as a Failsafe - no, Drake would have that removed - _sneak_ the feature in between other functions. Perhaps a certain soundtrack … the Rydberg spectrum! Yes, that's perfect!"

"Are you sure you can do that?" Clipper asked skeptically. "Harvey would've done that if he could … "

"Show me the code," Thomas directed. "Show me the code that runs on the Biocopies' Swipe."

Clipper nodded, then spun his chair around, then browsed through a few folders on his computer before opening a single JStandalone file. Thomas dragged his chair towards the computer and scanned through the code. It was complex, but neatly written. It had a strange, unique touch to it - Thomas had learnt, from his years at working for WICKED, that you could gain hints about a programmer's character from the nature of their code (provided it was written by a single programmer). Harvey had to be a neat and exceptionally clever fellow with a rebellious streak.

Thomas found himself staring at the snippet that ran the decoding of verbal instructions. Drake seemed to have a reason to override the brain's standard wiring for this. If they could just sneak in a few lines of code here and there in a way they resembled a standard audio translation …

"I can do this," he announced, even though he knew it was far easier said than done. Besides, it had to be him - he was the only one who hadn't shed any blood during the recent attacks on the Order's forces, which meant the Order had no way of identifying him. "Will probably take me a couple of weeks, though. Months, maybe."

Clipper sighed. "There's no way this is gonna work, then."

"Why not?"

"Because Drake will have you Biocopied the moment you join that stupid Order. Your Biocopy will know your true intentions."

 **Author's note:**

 **I imagine JStandalone to be a future form of javascript that runs standalone, something like Node. js.**


	19. Chapter 18

Thomas thought about it. How could you prevent the Biocopy from knowing his intentions? How could you manipulate the Biocopy's brain? How could you manipulate _anyone's_ brain?

"The Swipe!" he exclaimed. The Swipe worked by electromagnetic fields that helped suppress memories - it would work during the Biocopy process, too. "That's it! Manipulate the Swipe to change my memories right before the Biocopy process, then right it afterwards!"

"Implant fake memories?" Clipper asked.

Thomas nodded in response. "Like what you said about the Order implanting fake memories to and about its Trigger and Pre-Trigger subjects."

Clipper nodded, looking deep in thought. "Should be possible," he said finally. "But I'd say we better get someone with expertise on the Swipe. You know, someone like Harvey."

"Jonathan Maldoon," Thomas suggested. "He engineered the Swipe, and ended up being one of the last WICKED employees to side with Ava after Janson _temporarily_ outsmarted her." He involuntarily put special emphasis on the ' _temporarily_ ' - Ava Paige was an exceptionally clever and quick-witted woman, capable of taking any change in plans to the advantage of her goals - and she had only one goal: maximising utility, the utility of the world. She had been able to outsmart Janson to put in place the backdoor plan, even when almost all of WICKED had turned against her. Much before that, she had used rebel groups to her advantage and transformed them into Variables for the subjects, pulling the strings from the outside.

* * *

Jonathan Maldoon ended up having to personally visit them in the evening for the creation of memories to be implanted. The story would go this way: Thomas's early life would be temporarily erased from his memories, all he would remember was a fake name. He would temporarily forget his ability to communicate telepathically, and everything after the Berg's crash would be forgotten and replaced with a different situation - one in which Thomas overheard a Rebel team speaking, started to hate them, and got inspired by the Order, before attempting to attack the team and failing.

And then once the Biocopy process was over, the changes would be reverted, and Thomas would recall the true reason for him to work for the Order - to build a Failsafe into the Biocopies. In addition, the Swipe would send fake Killzone patterns to any Killzone monitor that Drake might implant in Thomas's brain to gain a better understanding of Thomas's intentions. It worked by inverting his emotions, but Thomas could manually manipulate it any time he deemed necessary, by just mentally telling it to, in a way he couldn't explain, even to himself.

So Thomas had the full Swipe re-inserted in his brain, a process which was, luckily, with the invention of the Retractor, no longer as dangerous as it once was, just slightly over a decade ago, and would take off for Tunis the next day.

"We should stop talking telepathically, right?" Thomas asked Clipper, gesturing at Teresa.

Clipper shook his head. "Non-organic material can't be Biocopied."

"But you said the Biocopies have the Swipe in their head, too," Thomas argued. "Including telepathic routers."

"It's on a different network. The Swipe networks are secure as hell. But it would be best to be a little cryptic."

Thomas shrugged, hoping, desperately, that the boy was right.


	20. Chapter 19

The sound of a military Berg's thrusters was now more than familiar to Thomas, and he could differentiate it from the louder, rougher sound of a standard Berg. The goodbyes weren't too quick, and Thomas was glad - it would probably be a while before he saw his friends again.

Teresa said nothing, only squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back in return. That was all he really needed.

"You're gonna be safe, shank," Minho teased. "Staying with Drake in his little palace while we go brawling with the Order soldiers."

The remark angered Thomas more than it should have. "Shut your hole, Minho! You think I want to be safe and act loyal to Drake out there? Shuck, I'd rather go through the Changing a hundred times more, than stay _safe_ and _secure_ in Drake's shucky _palace_!"

Minho looked taken aback, and he immediately raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Calm it, Greenie. I was just pulling your leg."

Thomas rolled his eyes, his anger suddenly subsiding, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. "If Drake finds out and executes me, I probably wouldn't want my last words to you be those of anger and spite," he winked. "Or referring to me as _Greenie_."

Newt forced a smile. "Try controlling your bloody temper a little, Tommy. We don't want ya spitting in Drake's face, now do we?" He clapped Thomas on the shoulder, then added: "And don't bloody die."

"Great, we're all bloody inspired," Minho said, imitating a horrid British accent.

"I'll only say this once, Noam," Aharon said with a sigh. "You sure about this? Everything I've heard of these people is … nothing good can come out of these people." It reminded Thomas of what Lawrence had told him when he went to WICKED, misled and working undercover for the Right Arm. That didn't give him too much hope.

"I'm not the only Rebel to work undercover against the Order," Thomas reminded him.

"Yeah, but you're … " Aharon trailed off, and Thomas knew what he was thinking - the man didn't want to lose Thomas - no, _Noam_ , just days after getting him back. Even if he wasn't anywhere close to the grandson the man once knew.

"I'll be fine," Thomas said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice and casting a reassuring smile. "Grandpa." He forced the last word out, and Aharon's face instantly brightened.

"Bye," was all Clipper said, but his eyes looked even more sorrowful than that of his other friends. After a long pause, he added, stammering for words: "I … you just … be safe, alright?"

Thomas was surprised the kid cared all so much about him - he'd thought the worst thing that could happen to Clipper from his leaving was having to handle Minho alone.

"I will, Clipper," Thomas said reassuringly, then turned to face Teresa. "Take my job as mediator between Minho and Clipper, alright?"

Teresa laughed slightly, and even though Thomas hated himself for the cheesy sentiment, he couldn't help but notice the beautiful sound that it was to his ears.

Finally, Thomas walked out of the Berg, but not before giving Teresa a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead, leading Minho to snicker, earning a slap on the head from Newt.

And thus Thomas began his journey towards Tunis.

* * *

He had been running for an hour now, the air chill and dry. His body begged for water, but he refused to drink, not wanting to lose his momentum. He could see _something_ in the distance now - covering a large chunk of the horizon, through his binoculars at least, even though he couldn't make out what this _something_ was. He knew it was the entrance to the travellator, but he hadn't seen it, and didn't know how he was supposed to recognise it. He gulped, hoping that this was the only lack of preparation for the coming war at Tunis.

It took another hour for Thomas to finally make out some of the features of the edge of the Travellators. A thin strip of black was stretched across most of the horizon, with splotches of red situated at equal intervals. At midpoints between the splotches were tiny outcroppings in the rock, like flag posts of some sort. Giving up on his nonstop running, he stopped to take a sip, which ended up being a gulp, from his water bottle, then rested for a while before resuming his run.

As he grew closer to the edge, Thomas realised the outcroppings of rock were not actually rocks, but human beings. Guards, perhaps. It was dark now, and Thomas could only see the guards due to the red lights situated across the edge. Teresa contacted him telepathically every now and then, but his skull mostly remained silent. A full hour later, Thomas was close enough to observe them rotating, to observe the rifles in their hands, stuff he did _not_ want to get shot by.

Thomas estimated he was about ten miles from the edge now. He could easily reach it within an hour or two, which was an hour or two before midnight. Deciding to give his legs a rest, Thomas plopped down on the ground, then reached into his bag for his standard snack - a sandwich.

Thomas reached the wall an hour and a half later. It was probably about thirty feet in height, a dull grey illuminated by flashes of red light that looked like giant Beetle Blades set in place. A yellow light surrounded him suddenly, Thomas looked up to see a bearded guard shining his flashlight down on him.

"Stephen McVoy!" Thomas yelled - it was the made-up name he had agreed to use in Tunis. "I'm here to volunteer for the Lead Tech post!"

"Lead Tech, eh?" the guard asked, a thick, unidentifiable accent lacing his voice. "What makes ye think ye have any credentials for that?"

"I worked for WICKED. I know how the Swipe works–"

"Stop!" the guard interrupted him, sounding desperate. "I'm not allowed to know all this!"

Thomas was surprised that the guard _voluntarily_ refrained from knowing anything Drake prohibited him from knowing, even public job offer descriptions. Before he could open his mouth to mutter an apology, the ground beneath him opened, and Thomas was falling into a seemingly bottomless abyss.

But he hit the ground, which ended up being no more than thirty feet deep, and made of a spongy, squishy material. There was practically no light to see around, and Thomas tried feeling around, but all he found was more sponge.

Thomas's eyes widened with realisation.

This was what Timothy had said was the Biocopying chamber, the last memory he'd had before being … reborn.

Quickly, he recalled the code they had decided on to change his memories before the Biocopy process.

 _Green Sweepers and Yellow Donkeys_ , he called to Teresa, hoping she was ready. It was a random bunch of words Newt had come with.

 _As ready as ever_ , came the reply.


	21. Chapter 20

And then memories were being sucked out of his mind. Everything from his life before WICKED grew hazy until it faded away. His name! What was his original name, before Thomas? Stephen McVoy! Yes, that was his old name! Communicating telepathically with Teresa … he could once do it, but no, no - Hans removed the Swipe in Denver. But he had telepathic conversations with her after that, hadn't he? No, he hadn't. He forgot every telepathic conversation he'd had with Teresa. Where was Paradise … he couldn't remember - no, he never _knew_.

How did he get here? His Berg crashed … they crashed somewhere in the Mediterranean, where Thomas had overheard a Rebel meeting, from which he'd escaped, separating himself from Teresa and the rest, an attempted execution on him - he was a spy there and had tried to attack them, before stealing their Berg and making a run for Tunis. He suddenly grew hateful of the Rebels, and he suddenly grew a respect for Drake. Of course! How could he possibly not respect a man who served his nation, his values?

And finally, just as the door above him sealed shut, he forgot that his memories had been tampered with at all.

 **Author's note:**

 **Terribly short chapter, I know, and probably the fourth badly written chapter in a row. I'll post another chapter today, which will be at least slightly more interesting, I hope.  
**


	22. Chapter 21

When Thomas woke up, he found himself lying on a soft, cushiony mattress. The white-walled room he found himself in was scarcely furnished and devoid of any furniture. He hoped he was in Tunis. His head felt light all of a sudden - he reached for it with his right palm. Embarassment ran through him when he realised he'd been shaved bald.

Thomas realised his memories were back to normal. His real name - not Stephen Mcvoy, but Noam Rajweiss. He was here to implement a Failsafe in the Order's Biocopies, in preparation for a larger attack once the Order's forces were replaced by Biocopies. He could barely believe it was possible to manipulate his brain to such an extent.

Thomas swung his legs off his bed, then crept towards the door of the room. He could hear voices, muffled by the door, but audible nevertheless.

"–loyalty like a Biocopy. A very valuable asset."

"True, Drake, true. Is it not just sad that we cannot produce such in Tunis?"

" _What did you say?_ " the first voice asked.

"I say we need to bring educational reforms. Not saying there's something wrong with your system! But you could have improved it."

And then Thomas heard a yelp, then a strangled cry, before Drake spoke again. "Show some respect. Guards, execute him!"

Screams of apologies were heard, but they faded away as the man was dragged off. Thomas backed away from the wall, then turned his back to it, shocked at the scene that had just unfolded before him. Sure, he knew the kind of authoritative psychopath that Drake was, but he hadn't been expecting _this_. Eyeing the two-way Audio-Visual system on the opposite wall, he refused to show his true emotions on his face, and instead faked a wide grin, not looking directly at the spying device, but making sure it recorded the grin. "That shuckface deserved it," he called, loud enough to ensure that the spycam recorded it, but not so loud to make it obvious he wanted it to hear. "Should learn the idea of respect for authority, really."

The door behind him opened, and Thomas spun around. Drake stood before him, a smile plastered across his face. Thomas couldn't help but notice how similar the man looked like to him, even despite the difference in their age and the fact that they weren't all that closely related.

"Pleasure to meet you, Stephen," his granduncle said in a buttery smooth voice.

"Same," Thomas replied with an enthusiastic nod, faking a smile.

"It is really a matter of great fortune for us to have someone as talented and loyal as you."

"It's really a matter of pride to work for this great … administration," Thomas had no clue if Drake would appreciate him calling it a monarchy. "So … how long was I out?"

"Fourty-eight hours, Stephen. I trust you understand the need for verification and all those procedures … you know."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Drake took a deep breath, then pulled a chair and in an elegant gesture, lowered his body to seat itself on it before speaking. "Please take a seat."

Thomas obliged, afraid of the consequences of refusing to accept it.

"I trust you understand that the threat of Israel is more frightening than ever," Drake continued - again that silky-sweet, artificial voice.

"Yes, sir. I do understand," Thomas said - that would be a part of his Biocopy's memory right now. His heart suddenly beat faster at the thought of an identical version of himself, working for the Order - _truly_ working for the Order. How could it be even possible?

"Yes - I've heard you've learnt a lot of crucial details about us from your spying on the Rebel groups. Those roaches," Drake said bitterly. "It is highly unfortunate there are so many of them, and scattered all around."

Thomas nodded - again a feigned nod.

"But I have dedicated my life to protecting my people from such threats, to keeping them safe and joyful." _Yeah, by not letting them criticise a shuckin' word of yours._ "And the Biocopies are a key ingredient to this. A large peacekeeping force, do you see?"

Thomas nodded again.

Drake continued talking, giving Thomas more and more information about the Order and his activities - Thomas knew most of it from Clipper, of course, barring details about the locations of various Order facilities, which Thomas made a mental note of in his head.

He then proceeded to walk Thomas through the central region of Tunis, what the man called Capital Square. It didn't take too much time for Thomas to realise that the whole of Tunis was more like an indoor facility, reminding Thomas of the Maze. Every corner of the city had a guard or two, clothed in a tar black Order uniform with the Draconian Emblem on it - an orange pyramid with a lightning bolt at its centre.

"The pyramid indicates stability, peace," Drake explained.

 _Except when one person rises to the top of it,_ Thomas thought, _And the bolt a symbol of their power and tyranny._

 **Author's note:**

 **Here's a quick recap of events for those who're confused:**

 **Now that Drake's arena for breeding soldiers is gone, Drake has resorted to a less effective way of doing so – by programming their brain to make them stronger. He's been looking for people to do this work for him (take up the post of the Lead Technician, Harvey's old post).**

 **Thomas will be entering Tunis like any other undercover agent of Clipper, taking up the post of a Lead Technician, which he's qualified for due to his intense education at WICKED. The plan is to tweak the Biocopies' coding to build in a vulnerability – the Biocopies will die upon hearing a certain soundtrack, a very specific series of sounds – like a piece of music, rather than a verbal order.**

 **This has to be something whose equation is simple enough that it can be sneaked into the code without being caught, but also rare enough that a Biocopy would never randomly hear it in Tunis (which would inform Drake about the vulnerability). Thomas chose the so-called "Rydberg spectrum" – search for "sound of hydrogen" online to listen to it (WARNING: Will result in your terribly unfortunate demise, should you be one of Drake's Biocopies) – there's a nice minutephysics video on youtube about it.**

 **Except there's one problem – Clipper can't send any more spies into Tunis, because Drake tests every visitor for honesty by Biocopying them and questioning the Biocopy of the original's intentions – remember that the Biocopies preserve all memories, all traits of the original, except they're permanently programmed to be loyal to Drake, among other things (such as being biologically unable to feel empathy and romantic love).**

 **Of course, WICKED invented the Swipe and is expert at manipulating memories, and one of the top notch scientists at WICKED, Jonathan Maldoon (no relation whatsoever with Harvey Maldoon … as of yet, at least), who is also Ava's closest and most trusted subordinate, will be helping them bypass this problem by temporarily manipulating Thomas's memories during the Biocopy process, so the Biocopy will not learn of Thomas's real memories, but the fake implanted ones.**

 **And so, here he is, ready to work in the Failsafe as Drake trusts him.**


	23. Chapter 22

The next two months at Mount Meron went rather uneventfully. Besides having to gun down an Order team comprising of some of Drake's best associates, most of the Rebels' times were spent within Mount Meron. Helping Bennett with his anti-Drake newspaper and other stuff, analysing Drake's software for vulnerabilities, training Drake's subjects in fighting and handling weapons …

Teresa was best with her good old spear, and more recently with rifles. She had learnt by now to ignore the weird looks Minho and Newt would send her each time they saw her with a spear - they were probably recalling that shucked up Betrayal scenario.

Sometimes Teresa wondered how the Order never found their hideout. Clipper had told her about the protection from explosives, and had showed her the elaborate system of hidden trapdoors behind the walls of his little already-well-hidden office, but it still surprised her, considering how easily the Vaidehites had stumbled upon the hideout. Sure, Clipper claimed the mess-up was due to some tests he was doing with the alarm system at the time, but still …

"Alright," she said, steadying Lisa's arm, "So like I said, if you want distance, nock the spear at a fourty-five degree angle, then aim it right at–" She was interrupted by a voice in her head. "Thomas!"

"Aim it at Thomas?" the girl asked, casting Teresa a shocked look. "What?"

"Slim it!" Teresa hissed, concentrating on what Thomas had just told her.

 _The chorus of bravery in the midst of battlefields has been dissipated._

By now, she knew the Rebels' code language well enough to tell that the word 'dissipated' should be interpreted as 'formed' or 'concocted'. The word 'battlefield' was an old joke between Thomas and herself, meaning 'killzone' or 'brain', and they had used it to crack rude jokes about people's intelligence in their presence without their comprehension. But the chorus of bravery? What the Scorch was _that_?

"Hey, Clipper!" she called, walking towards the boy. "What's the chorus of bravery?"

Clipper cast her a quizzical look. "What?"

"I don't know," Teresa replied with a shrug. "Thomas just relayed that to me telepathically - _the chorus of bravery in the midst of battlefields has been dissipated_. From what I can decipher, it means: _the smart chorus of bravery has been created_."

And just like that, it clicked in Teresa's head. The smart chorus of bravery had to mean the Failsafe. The Failsafe had to be a kind of … "A war cry!" Teresa practically screamed. "The Failsafe is complete, has to be!"

Clipper's face brightened instantly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Thomas's voice sounded in Teresa's head again, so she shushed the younger boy.

 _The Variable is complete._

By 'Variable', Thomas was trying to hint at a 'Trial' of some kind. By 'complete', he meant it was incomplete. The _testing_ was incomplete. Was he asking them to do the testing for him? But they didn't have any Biocopies to test it on - based on what Clipper had once said, putting the Swipe back into Timothy's head wouldn't work, because the Order had already put it on a sort of 'Blacklist', now that they knew the Biocopy was in Rebel hands. It sounded pointless to Teresa, but oh, well …

 _The fifth secondary installment describes the birth of the required._

The required? What did they _require_ to test the Failsafe? Why, the Biocopies, of course! 'Fifth secondary installment' was easy to understand for Teresa - by secondary, Thomas meant twice-primary, and by primary, he meant the prime-numbered schedule. or 'the fifth prime'th prime schedule', or 'the eleventh prime-numbered schedule', or 'the thirty-first schedule'.

"Clipper, what's the thirty-first schedule?"

Clipper frowned, his pupils went to the corner of his eyes as if recalling something, then he spoke, turning his gaze back to her: "Riyadh."


	24. Chapter 23

**Author's note:**

 **To all those who wanted Thomas whump, you'll get it eventually (I already have it planned. It's … quite cruel.), but right now we'll be with Teresa, Clipper and the rest, so expect only Teresa, and Minho whump (which probably isn't that cruel, fortunately or unfortunately).**

 **:Jalo – Oh, well – do note that South Africa is about 30 degrees South of the equator, and Mexico, the setting of TST is about 30 degrees North of it. Anyway, solar flares that destroy the Earth are pretty much impossible, so I guess you need not worry about that. I'd rather think about a global cooling period that freezes the polar regions – less frightening for me here near the equator.**

"Thomas completed his work on the Failsafe," Teresa informed the five Rebels seated before her. Her announcement was met with wide grins, except from Clipper, who looked considering. "He wants us to test it."

Minho raised his eyebrows. "Test it? How?"

"Drake runs a Biocopy production plant at Riyadh, former Saudi Arabia. About two-thousand plus miles South-East from here. We need to infiltrate the compound and hijack a Tunis-going shipment, then play the Failsafe to the Biocopies."

Clipper sighed. "There's no way this is going to work, then."

"Why not?" Teresa questioned.

"Riyadh is one of the most securely guarded Order facilities in existence," Clipper explained. "I didn't even know it was a Biocopy production plant. I have no spies there. There's no way we can just sneak in and steal some Biocopies."

"Why can't we just capture a shipment on its own?" Newt suggested. "Rather than attacking the production plant?"

"Because we have no clue how the shipments are done. Not in years have we found anything moving on land 'round the plant, except maybe lizards. It's probably done by underground tunnels, or Flat Trans, or something."

A plan was forming in Teresa's mind. Clipper had once said that 'fugitives' were first interrogated at the nearest Order facility. What if they … "Hey, Clipper - listen to me. We might not be able to _infiltrate_ the Compound, but what if the Order takes us there instead?"

Clipper furrowed his eyebrows. "You mean … like Noam? No, Riyadh is–"

"No!" Teresa interrupted. "That wouldn't work. I'm saying, if one of us could _get caught_ by the Order, somewhere near Riyadh, could make them believe that interrogation is needed, then hijacks a shipment?"

Clipper considered that for a moment. "That's possible."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Newt interrupted. "Can't infiltrate Riyadh, this idea of getting caught and put in an interrogation room by the Order sounds bloody ridiculous to me."

"We _have_ to do it," Teresa said firmly. "It's the only way."

"And if they kill you?" Newt asked.

"They won't," Teresa said confidently. "Convince them that they need me alive. Maybe make them send me to … you know, return to my _colleagues_ , and stuff, and Clipper could just clip me, and they'll end up attacking an empty building. Pulling the strings with our words. We can get suggestions from Ava Paige." She said the last sentence half-sarcastically.

"We should take only a small team along with us," Clipper said - Teresa took that as an obvious acceptance of her suggestion.

She nodded. "The number of people actually _entering_ Riyadh should be just one." She paused, then volunteered herself: "I'll do it."

Minho opened his mouth to argue, but Teresa cut him off. "Listen to me. I might not be the best here at the actual fighting, but this mission is mostly going to need sneaking around, hiding, stuff like that. And I think I'm best for that."

Clipper nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Teresa seems agile and stuff. Also, she's smarter than you two. No offense, but besides Noam and myself, the only person here who actually speaks," he glanced at Newt, "and doesn't sound like a complete idiot when he does so," he glanced at Minho, "is Teresa."

Teresa stifled a laugh, an irrational reaction considering what she had just volunteered herself for.

* * *

They spent the next few hours planning, until midnight finally struck. The plan was simple - or rather, she should say, they didn't _know_ a lot to make a clear plan. They would play the same trick of replacing memories on her, that they had on Thomas. To ensure she wouldn't be executed without interrogation, the suspicious words she would say in the guards' presence would indicate that the strike would take place within the timespan of her Biocopy's production. That should frighten Drake and his shucked-up Order.

At last, Teresa rose from her chair, her body movements groggy and tired, and walked over to her room, then sunk into her mattress. Two months had passed, but she was still not used to sleeping alone, without Thomas. Even if she could feel his telepathic presence in her head. Sighing, she snuggled deeper into her blanket and let darkness overcome her.

 **Author's note:**

 **Short, bland chapters, I know, but they'll get better eventually. This quick couple of chapters in between will be important, even if boring. I have the general storyline ready for the whole story.**


	25. Chapter 24

**Author's note:**

 **:thegirlwiththerainboweyes – Ah, well – other countries have it even worse, I guess. I'm looking at you, Chile.**

Teresa lowered her binoculars, shocked at what she'd just seen. Clipper had been right. This place was a fortress. Clipper had said there was an Iron Dome-like system protecting the place - they couldn't just go and bomb the klunk out of it. And there were civilians. Civilians everywhere.

"Any second thoughts?" Clipper asked, walking over to her from behind. Teresa shook her head.

"Then perhaps I should ask: any _last_ thoughts?" Clipper said, then grinned.

Teresa rolled her eyes. Clipper's smile faded, and his eyes looked bleak. "Try to survive."

Teresa frowned. Of course she was going to survive. How difficult could _that_ be? She clapped her hands once, attracting the attention of her fellow Vaidehites and Order Rebels. "Listen up! I'm going to infiltrate that place, and you're going to manipulate my memories when I tell you to. No following me into there, alright? I'm going to get interrogated and stuff, and it's best if I escape this place with all my limbs intact."

After getting nods of assent, Teresa turned her back to them and took off towards the city.

* * *

It took over an hour for Teresa to reach the city. She was now about fifty metres away from the South gate. Some of the black-suited guards began to notice her, were staring at her with obvious suspicion. Teresa's hands went to her backpockets. Before the guards could suspect anything, she pulled out the sleeping gas bombs and catapulted them at the guards with the mini-catapult she had brought from Mount Meron.

Teresa's head started spinning as she neared the gas. Sucking in a huge gulp of air and holding it, she ran, at full speed, through the thick layer of sleeping gas until she reached the gate. The gate was merely two metres high, so she managed to grab it with her palms and push herself over it, although it hurt her lungs to do it while holding her breath.

And then she ran, deeper into the depths of the city, breathing heavily as she exited the layer of sleeping gas. Some people cast weird looks in her direction, but nobody realised she had come from outside, or that she was behind the explosion - the gas was too thick to make out anything on the other side.

Finally, she found a suitable spot to rest, to collect her thoughts. There was a black-suited Order guard on the opposite wall, just on the edge of her field of view, but she was well within the guard's field of view. The guard would believe her to be oblivious to his presence.

Teresa gulped, fear finally taking over. This was going to be dangerous. What if she couldn't escape?

It was too late to turn back. She'd taken up the responsibility herself. Pushing away all thoughts about what might go around, she took out her walkie-talkie and begun her act.

"How long for the strike?" she asked.

"Should be ready in about eight hours," came Clipper's fake reply.

"Eight hours? That late?" Teresa whispered into the device. The guard was approaching her now, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Yeah, eight hours. The Order won't suspect a thing."

"That's true. Drake will never be expecting it." Her words were a whisper, but deliberately loud, but without sounding like she was someone who wanted her whispers to be heard. Which she was.

"Oh, really?" came a voice from behind her. She spun around, and she was surrounded by guards on all sides. Just like they had planned.

She faked a scream into the walkie-talkie - the signal for Clipper to manipulate her memories, as a bag was thrown on her head. Just before the bag slid down his eyes, she noticed another bag being thrown down on … Minho?

So that slinthead had decided to follow her.

Great, just great.


	26. Chapter 25

For the second time in her life she recalled, memories were being sucked out of Teresa's head - and this time, replaced. The first to leave was her memory of Thomas being an undercover agent. He was merely someone they'd lost track of after the crash in the Scorch. And then she forgot about the Failsafe, about deliberately getting caught at Riyadh, all their mission details. She was here to monitor Riyadh's defence systems, eight hours in advance of a strike - one whose details she was completely aware of.

And then she remembered that Minho was also there for the same mission as she was in for.

Teresa's consciousness faded into blackness as somebody clocked her head good.

* * *

Teresa woke up to darkness, surrounded by stale and dusty air. This must have been how the Box had felt to Thomas and the rest. She stood up and felt around. Her memories were back to normal now. She recalled the truth - she was here on a mission, alone, to capture the Biocopies alive, to test Thomas's Failsafe.

She was here on a mission, _alone_. And the feigned memories installed by Clipper had included Minho in the mission. Clipper had known of Minho's shucked-up plan! Her legs slumped to the ground. Now she couldn't lie at interrogations. Now she couldn't work alone, escape alone. _That. Shucking. Idiot._

Something opened behind her, and light flooded the room. She turned her head, then the rest of her body, to face her new visitor.

Her eyes widened with shock.

It was Thomas.

 **Author's note**

 **Ah, well, it's not like we (or Teresa) don't know who this Thomas really is ; )  
**

 **Terribly short chapter, so I'll post another one soon.**


	27. Chapter 26

No, it couldn't be.

Thomas could not be genuinely working for the Order.

This had to be a Biocopy, it had to be.

"Hey," Teresa stammered out weakly. She thought about making a run for it, but she knew it wouldn't work. The Order had to have hundreds of guards waiting patiently for her on the other side.

Thomas's Biocopy smirked. "We could do this easily. Without having nails driven into your fingers, or having your limbs sliced off. You take the choice."

A cold shiver ran through Teresa's body. "You're not actually in charge of this place, are you?"

Thomas's look-alike laughed. "We just figured out this would probably be the most intimidating for you. It's working, isn't it?"

Teresa shook her head, but her reactions proved otherwise. The Biocopy was right - it _was_ working. She would give up a finger just to change this Biocopy's face. The messy brown hair, the dark, hazel eyes, the familiar face that would usually cause a flutter in her chest, now only sent a rush of pain through the same.

The Biocopy laughed. "Have it your way, then."

Guards charged into the room, grabbing Teresa by the arms. She struggled against their grasp, but she knew it was useless. A rush of helplessness flooded her as she was dragged out of the room, across a hallway, into another room, and finally strapped to a chair. White, padded walls. An observation window. A desk with a bizarre collection of tools placed on it - screwdrivers, shock sticks, knives, pliers, menacing-looking appliances that put Clipper's clipper to shame.

She was in an interrogation room.

Teresa looked up at Thomas - no, Thomas's Biocopy - with teary, hopeful eyes, hoping he'd see her, change his mind. But the Biocopy only laughed bitterly.

"First question," the Biocopy said loudly, picking a menacing-looking plier then pacing between the walls of the room. "What's this _strike_ about? We could have just waited for your Biocopy to process, but you mentioned something about … eight hours?"

Teresa stayed silent, trying to distance the Biocopy as much as possible away from Thomas, away from her, away from the human species. The Biocopy looked down, turning her gaze towards her.

And then he - no - _it_ frowned. "I've made it my personal mission to torture the hell out of you, you understand? I see eight hours is not a very long time, and we don't have time to go slowly on you. If you don't co-operate, you'll have to spend the rest of your life with gouged eyeballs and mashed-up-limbs. Do you understand?

Even though the image terrified her, Teresa stayed silent. Fearful. Disgusted. Regretful. And somehow, the eight-hour limit was made-up, a hoax, it gave her an odd sense of comfort to know that the Order had something to fear, that they were desperate to obtain answers within that period of time.

"Okay," the Biocopy said - no - released a sound, "We'll start with something more basic. Who are you affiliated with? Any organisation? To organise such a large strike, apparently … "

Teresa continued to remain silent.

"Guess we have to do this the hard way," came the sound from the machine. The machine that wore Thomas's skin. The machine that was stupid and Drake-loyal. The machine that terrified her.

The machine moved towards her, then slowly moved the plier to touch her little fingernail. She flinched.

"I'm giving you one last chance," the machine threatened - no - released a voice laced with a funny - or rather, terrifying - tone.

At Teresa's silence, the machine slowly released a small volume of air from a hole in its upper segment, then clapped her nail with the pliers.

"Tom!" she cried, even though she knew it was futile. "Don't do this to me!"

And then to her complete bafflement, the Biocopy froze. Recognition flickered in his previously lifeless eyes, followed by a hundred different emotions. First sheer anger, then confusion, then shock, then … a deep - no _, deepening_ -guilt.

And then Thomas's Biocopy opened his mouth to speak, and only one word came out, a low, soft whisper. "Te– … Teresa?"

 **Author's note:**

 **Biocopies could break past their coding? Who knew? Anyway, next chapter might be a little … traumatic, let me warn you in advance.**


	28. Chapter 27

**Author's note:**

 **Warning: (badly written) major character death, possible suicide triggers**

 **Apologies in advance. But please read the author's note in the end before deciding to stop reading or something (death is reversible here because… sh…).**

 _Biocopies are unconditionally loyal to Drake,_ Bennett had said. But who knew how the brain worked? Maybe the Swipe couldn't access every corner of the brain. Maybe the Biocopies' programming didn't cover all the there was something in her words that triggered a loss of loyalty in the Biocopy. Despite the fleeting moment of hope, her mind was in too much shock to think about what she'd said.

Before Teresa could form any words, Thomas's Biocopy had disappeared behind her, and a strange music had started playing.

Teresa turned her head around just as the Biocopy returned. "So nobody can hear," Thomas's look-alike said quietly. "Every now and then I'll scream at you or tear your nail out to be realistic."

Teresa sighed internally. She didn't really want a nail torn out, but she could see why being realistic was important.

"I … I'm so sorry," Thomas said. "I don't … I mean … when you said that … I mean, _don't do this to me_ … I remembered saying that to you … something about you dragging me in a bag through the Scorch." Thomas looked away and rubbed his hands together.

Teresa opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas was speaking again before she could form any words.

"And then I remembered you did it to save me somehow, and yet me, being a slinthead … I mean, I always _knew_ it, _remembered_ it, but it just … what you said … I understood the weight of it all. It's hard to explain." He paused. "And I remembered I love you."

The last comment took Teresa by surprise. Clipper had said the Biocopies couldn't feel romantic love, but here …

"No, not in a romantic way," Thomas clarified, answering her thoughts. "I mean, I used to, but now I can't. I, the fake, copied Stephen … Thomas … I can't."

Teresa had known Thomas since the age of nine. And she knew he wasn't lying. Unless Biocopies were better actors, too.

Suddenly, Thomas's Biocopy grabbed her left little fingernail and yanked it out. Teresa cried out in pain, then stared at the Biocopy in shock and pain, until she remembered what he'd said about tearing a nail or so out.

"Well, you're not giving me anything useful!" Thomas yelled, then in a softer voice: "I'm sorry." His eyes seemed to hold the same pain she felt. It was like the time in the Scorch, when Teresa had been forced to torture Thomas to save his life. Only this time, their roles were reversed.

"From you … " Thomas said, not looking her directly in the eye, "From the connection to my past … the real Thomas … my loyalty to Drake just … disappeared. I recalled my true sense of morality … our … " he faltered. "Why is the old Thomas devoted to the Order? Why is the real Thomas devoted to serving the Order?"

Teresa didn't respond - she _did_ trust Thomas's Biocopy now, but who was to say? Better safe than sorry.

As if reading her thoughts, Thomas said: "I know. You need a reason to trust me … We can get you out of here, sneak you out on a shipment. But each shipment is securely guarded as klunk. It will be impossible to get you out of the shipment." Teresa couldn't help but notice his use of Glader slang.

"I'll see what I can do," he murmured quietly, then left the room. Guards stormed in, unstrapped Teresa from her seat, and carried her down the hallway. Only this time, she didn't resist. She was back in the cell, except now, she had a cell-mate.

It was Minho.

He was bruised up from head to toe, he obviously had been tortured a lot more than her.

"You idiot," Teresa whispered raspily. "Why did you follow me!"

Minho didn't respond. His gaze settled on the wound on her fingernail. Then with a sudden burst of movement, his hands went to the ends of his shoelaces, pulling something out - a long needle. Before Teresa could say a word, Minho launched the needle into his own throat.

Blood oozed out of the boy's throat. Teresa felt a strangled cry form in her throat at the horror that was unfolding before her.

"No!" Teresa screamed, tears stinging at her eyes. "Minho!"

But Minho's eyes rolled back into his head, and his breathing ceased.

 **Author's note:**

 **Okay – I** _ **may**_ **bring Minho back to life (I have some tricks up my sleeves). I swear I won't make it too cheesy. Let's have a vote. Tell me your choice in the reviews. Did you hear me, shanks?**

 **I CAN BRING MINHO BACK TO LIFE.**

 **I really don't like killing the older, more loved characters, but I honestly think this was more or less essential to the storyline. What** _ **isn't**_ **essential is that Minho stay dead.**

 **Here are my own reasons (con-death, i.e. to bring Minho back to life):**

 **\- The story gets boring without funny characters like Minho, Newt, Clipper, Jorge, etc.**

 **\- It's a fun writing challenge to do a non-cheesy revival of someone.**

 **\- Relieves any sadness one might get from reading this.**

 **\- (Hopefully) reduces the hate I'll get for this, including from myself.**

 **\- You'll see it will be kinda natural.**


	29. Chapter 28

**Author's note:**

 **I'll be bringing Minho back to life eventually.**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes – Hm … I don't think it would be possible to have all that, considering how I'm planning to bring him back to life.**

 **:fadingshadows – The Biocopy, of course. Why else would he have been genuinely loyal to the Order? Thomas is still at Tunis.**

Teresa slumped against the opposite wall, shocked at what had just happen. Tears now freely streamed down her cheeks. What had just happened? They had a goddamn Biocopy on their side, they could have escaped, and this idiot had decided to _kill himself_. She hadn't been on great terms with Minho in the past, but over the two years at Vaidehi, they had grown more friendly, and Teresa wouldn't exactly mind referring to Minho as a brother-figure. And his death - no, his _suicide_ \- simply horrified her.

And he'd probably done it so _she_ could escape in one piece. He'd probably done it because of the guilt he felt. He'd probably done it because … would Minho be alive right now if Teresa hadn't questioned him on having followed her into Riyadh?

Minho was going to be a father.

But now his child, Brenda's child, would never get to see its father.

Because of Teresa.

Guilt racked her.

Brenda. Thomas. Newt. What would they say? Even Thomas's Biocopy.

Teresa glared at the Audio-Visual recorder on the other side. "Great job," she hissed at it, rising from her feet involuntarily. "One down. How many remaining? It must be fun for y'all, huh?" Then she added: "Only a few hours remain. Wait for the strike."

But there was no strike. It was all a lie, and she was falling for her own lie now.

Slumping back to the ground, she contacted Thomas, not even bothering to cryptify her message too much. To enter the _Zero point three zero five five'd centihour. Waterbuoy entrance, too much safe-ity._

But that was wrong. Minho's death was bad enough - why was her grief causing her to risk the lives of the rest of the rest of the Rebels - those who were still alive? In an attempt to vent her frustration, she banged her head against the wall until her forehead turned sore. But it only made everything worse.

Almost giving up, she slumped to the ground in defeat, sobbing.

Why had she ever agreed to all this?

* * *

Half an hour later, she was again dragged to the interrogation room by a horde of guards. Thomas's Biocopy followed, his face blank and devoid of emotion, although she could see quite some suppressed grief in his eyes when he saw Minho's dead body. But he had to have known about it previously, of course.

It was only after they were alone in the interrogation room that there was any indication of changed loyalties. He grew suddenly interested in double-checking her restraints - Teresa knew why - he didn't want to hurt her, pull out any more fingernails.

"Tunis has ordered a large excess shipment," Thomas explained, his voice barely audible, especially under the playing music. "For experimental purposes."

That had to be Thomas's job. The real Thomas. Relief flooded her, knowing that he'd heard her distress call.

"This means the security on each shipment has greatly declined," Thomas continued. "This is your chance to escape. I'll be waiting at Shipment A2301. I've set up a decoy to detract security forces within the Riyadh compound itself."

Teresa nodded. Then an idea struck her. "If you find a dead body of me, you'll know it's a Biocopy's if its index fingers are missing."

Thomas subtly nodded, then suddenly swung his arm, knocking her chair backward. Her back took the impact as the chair crashed onto the floor. And then he pulled it back up with both arms, slyly untethering her wrists in the process.

"Darn!" he yelled. "This must have broken when … " he sent a fake harsh glare at Teresa, "Don't you dare try anything."

Teresa nodded, then Thomas gently took her hand and placed it on the table, before rubbing a knife lightly over her knuckles. It wasn't enough to draw blood, but enough to give her a rush of adrenaline. "Go," Thomas whispered quietly, before leaving the room.

Teresa quickly untethered her ropes, then armed herself with every interrogation tool she could find that could be used as a weapon. Screwdrivers, knives, razors, needles, daggers … not too diverse.

Keeping thoughts of Minho's death at bay, she rushed out of the room, and through the corridors, following the directions to the shipment area. She met a guard at the third intersection. Before the guard could raise his Launcher, Teresa swung her screwdriver into the man's gut, just like what she'd seen Minho do to himself.

Teresa continued walking.

She met two more guards on her way, and applied similar treatments against them, escaping unscathed. To avoid confrontation with any further guards, she stripped a guard of his Order uniform and wrapped it around herself. It took her only a minute or so before she reached a T-intersection whose navigation board claimed to lead to the shipment area. Peering about the corner, she stole a quick glance at the place it lead to. It was the shipment area indeed, but it was heavily guarded.

There was no way this was going to work.

Teresa stole a glance at the other alley. Large frosted glass trolleys were being towed towards the shipment region. Her eyes caught one that was labelled _A2301-3_. That had to lead to the A2301 shipment.

Teresa thought about how she could get to the source of the trolleys. Maybe if she just …

Curling her little finger into her fist to hide the exposed flesh at its tip, she walked confidently past the trolley-towers, until she reached a four-way junction. She sneaked her way to the right, towards a small trolley parking, until her eyes landed on a trolley labelled _A2301-6_. It didn't take a hawk's eye to realise that the Biocopies inside were of herself.

She quickly undressed herself and wrapped the Order uniform around an unclothed Biocopy of hers, before slitting its throat. Like she had promised Thomas's Biocopy, she sliced off her own Biocopy's index fingers, before tearing off the fingernail, just like her own. A guard appeared from around the corner. Teresa threw a knife at his chest, and the guard crumbled to the ground.

And then Teresa started hacking away at the Biocopy's brain, until her scalpel found something hard, metallic - the Swipe. Worried that the shipments might be scanned for the Swipe, she stuffed it below her tongue, before making sure there were none of those two-way AV devices, and slipping into the trolley.


	30. Chapter 29

**Author's note:**

 **:Guest [1] - Yeah, I will. Shuckface Junior would have to see his father.  
**

 **:Guest [2] - I explained it in the previous chapter - he made the sacrifice so that at least one of them could get out of Riyadh (by bluffing answers in the interrogation so she could be in good enough physical condition to sneak out). And, I'd say, he might've lost the will to survive, at least for a moment (I can imagine the helplessness of an interrogation room to be horrid enough for that to happen). A rash decision, of course.  
**

 **A hint regarding Minho's future revival - This is a line from a future chapter under planning:**

 ** _"Well," Teresa said, still eyeing the scene before her. "If it sasses like a Minho, teases like a Minho, and rages like a Minho, then it probably is a Minho."_**

Minutes later, the trolley was being towed. Teresa imitated her Biocopies - shut her eyes, forced her chest to fall with even breaths, and made no movements at all. She understood why Thomas had chosen this particular shipment - it contained Biocopies of herself and probably Minho, and Thomas was afraid they'd contain valuable information. Even through the frosted glass, she could see the change in lighting as the world suddenly darkened around her, and the trolley soon stopped moving.

"Teresa."

Teresa flinched slightly at the mention of her name.

"Teresa." This time it was louder, clearer, and she could make out it was Thomas's voice. She slowly brought her hand up and pushed the lid off the trolley. Thomas tossed her a piece of clothing - an Order uniform. It was only now that she felt slightly embarrassed of lying completely naked next to her clones. She quickly spat out the Swipe and pulled on the Order uniform, then turned her gaze to Thomas, who was looking away.

"Are you done?" Thomas called.

"Yeah."

Thomas turned around, then eyed the Swipe, that laid in a puddle of saliva on the ground. "Be glad I managed to take the place of the guard who was scanning the Biocopies. Holding the Swipe in your shuck mouth doesn't work."

"Thanks," Teresa managed, hiding her inner turmoil - grief over Minho's death, gratefulness for Thomas, how moved she was that Thomas loved her enough that even his Biocopy broke through his coding for her.

"The Biocopies will be waking up soon," Thomas supplied. "I take it you want to destroy them?"

Teresa shook her head. "We want them alive."

A brief look of surprise flashed across Thomas's face, and then it disappeared. He nodded. "Alright. I have sedatives and stuff. Can I trust you to kill all the guards on this shipment when they arrive? There should be no more than five of them, excluding the driver and myself."

Teresa nodded; Thomas handed her a dagger and a rifle. "Just don't shoot me," he asked, and Teresa gave him another nod, before walking off to find the guards.

The shipment was a large metal cage with wheels and axles that could be seen from the inside. It was moving slowly, hopefully meaning that they were leaving Riyadh. A few white lights shone from the tunnel surrounding it, but otherwise, it was rather dark. Teresa couldn't find any guards.

Of course not; Thomas had said they hadn't arrived yet. Teresa hid behind a trolley, waiting for the guards to enter. It took a few minutes, but sure enough, four guards entered the shipment, and were now walking towards her hiding place. Teresa turned off the safety.

Just when they were close enough for her to have a perfect shot, she shot up from her place and fired four shots at the guards, sending them crumbling onto the floor.

And then a piece of cool metal was pressed against the back of her neck.

"You didn't even check to see if there were any other guards situated here," a whisper came from behind her. The voice was aged, masculine, buttery. Definitely not Thomas. "What're you up to, huh?" the voice continued. "You and the other guy. You even got one of _us_ on your side, huh? I heard him waking you up." The way he said ' _us_ ' made her wonder if he was referring to the Biocopies in particular, and not the Order.

"Where is he?" Teresa asked.

"Gagged and bound. Now tell me, what're you up to?"

"A massive strike," Teresa bluffed. "You have no idea what's in for you."

"A strike … " The man considered aloud, then effortlessly spun Teresa around and pressed the end of the gun to her forehead. "Don't force me to repeat the interrogation. Tell me, what's going on?"

Teresa kept her mouth sealed. The man sighed, then suddenly brought up his fist, smashing it into her jaw as the daylights were knocked out of her.

* * *

Teresa woke up, bound to chair, much like in the interrogation room, except this time, she could see she was still in the shipment, and she was glad for that. A man - the same man - walked up to her and faced her, a pair of wirecutters in his hands. And for the first time, Teresa saw his face.

She had seen this man before.

In the photographs in Clipper's office.

"Harvey," she whispered shakily.


	31. Chapter 30

**Author's note:**

 **Another hint on Minho's revival:  
**

 _ **Minho looked confused. "Wait, what the shuck? I look pretty much freakin' alive to me. Welcome back to the world? What are you shuckin' talking about? Last thing I remember is having a bag thrown on my head, then getting knocked out."**_

"Harvey!" she cried. "Please, we're on the same side!"

Harvey's Biocopy chuckled, then frowned at her. "Me? You? Same side? Naw … "

"Do you have any clue about the old Harvey? He was prepared to die so the world would stand a chance against the Order! He didn't go around licking Drake's boots!"

A hint of recognition flashed across the Biocopy's face, and Teresa thought she might have gotten her point across. But then the fake Harvey scowled. Nevertheless, Teresa was encouraged.

"Do you want the world to perish, Harvey? Do you want all of our resoruces to be spent on Drake and his stupid lineage?"

"Yes," the Biocopy replied, but Teresa thought the man's voice was slightly shaky. She kept trying.

"You're a pawn, Harvey! Drake's using you as a goddamn pawn! Drake and his stupid sons are the only people who are benefitting from this nonsensical klunk!"

"That's a good thing," Harvey replied, but he no longer sounded so harsh with her. Bennett had said Biocopies still value self-preservation above loyalty to Drake. What if …

"Drake will dispose you off once he gets what he wants!"

"That's … not true."

 _Think_ , Teresa told herself. What had she done to get Thomas's Biocopy on her side?

"I hope Bennett never sees you like this!"

Harvey's eyes shot up, shock evident in them.

"He looked up to you like a son to his father!"

Harvey took a step back.

"This would kill him!"

Harvey stared at his hands.

"You have any clue how much he cries about you?"

The wirecutter clattered as it hit the floor.

"He would do anything to get you back!"

Harvey was trembling now.

"But not like this! Heck, that's one of his worst fears. About meeting _you_! The fake Harvey! Not the real one! Wearing Harvey's skin, being loyal to _Drake_!"

Harvey opened his mouth, said something indecipherable.

"Heck, he would probably rather see you dead than see you like _this_!"

Harvey collapsed the ground, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. "Bennett Shelach Israeli," he whispered quietly. "Bennett Elizabeth Turner. Clipper." A full minute passed before he rose, then untethered Teresa. She didn't get up from his place, didn't attack.

"How … how is he?" Harvey asked, finally meeting her gaze. "Bennett … how is he?"

"As good as he could be without you around," Teresa replied quietly. "He's doing his job well, keeps talking about you, but isn't in the best state of mind." And it was true. It was very often that she'd catch the Rebel Leader crying to himself in a corner, holding a photograph of Harvey in his hands.

"Do you want to see him?" Teresa finally asked.

Harvey nodded earnestly.

"Then let's hijack this trailer."

 **Author's note:**

 **Mainly a short filler to highlight how the Biocopies are losing loyalty towards Drake. Obviously, Drake would know of this vulnerability, and this fact will be important in some coming chapters.  
**


	32. Chapter 31

**Author's note:**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes - Now, I wonder why the Order would want to do that... not telling. You'll find out if you're right, soon enough.  
**

 **Third hint: Re-read Chapter 11.**

Harvey led her to Thomas, who was - as promised, bound and gagged. They quickly untied him and brought him to the loop, before proceeding to the control room. Teresa pressed her rifle to the back of the driver's head.

"Take the third diversion," she ordered.

"You're going to kill me anyway."

"True," Teresa conceded, "But maybe we'll be less cruel if you follow our orders."

With a sigh, the driver tapped some buttons with his trembling hands. Thomas's Biocopy hovered over the touchscreen, as if to verify that the driver was truly setting the route to their requests.

"We need to send a message," Teresa ordered - it was nice to be the one holding the gun. "Where can we get that feature?"

The driver pointed a trembling finger at a computer on the wall at the side, but said: "Everything's tracked by the Order. You'll never win."

Teresa frowned. "Okay." They could use code, after all.

She quickly logged on to the radio system - Clipper was always monitoring the Order radio messages.

 **The second tertiary schedule describes the betrayar.**

The word 'betrayer' was misspelled on purpose, so the Order would think it was a misspelling of 'betrayal', while Newt would understand it was a reference to herself - _The Betrayer_ , as she had been labelled in the Scorch Trials of WICKED. She couldn't help but flinch at the memory - how ironic, though, that that was the very same memory that triggered the change of loyalty in Thomas's Biocopy. The second tertiary schedule, of course, referred to the eleventh schedule, that was Damman. Deliberately not on the route back to Meron.

When Teresa turned around, Thomas wasn't present - there was only Harvey, with a gun to the driver's temple. "Where's Thomas?" He was the only one she trusted fully at the moment.

Harvey jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Destroying the ship's trackers, sedating the Biocopies, stuff."

Teresa had completely forgotten about sedating the Biocopies. If the Biocopies woke up, the Rebels would be completely outnumbered. An explosion sounded from the bottom of the trailer, sending Teresa sprawling on the floor. She got her feet under her, just as Thomas entered the room.

"That was close," he breathed. "Tracker destroyed, Biocopies sedated. I don't know how to destroy the Biocopies' trackers, but right now, they're in a nice Faraday's cage."

Teresa nodded - Clipper would do that. The ship started rising. A quick glance out of the ship showed that they were climbing a slope out of the tunnel. A full three minutes later of travelling upwards at full speed, something opened in the far distance, and the air started to brighten.

Finally, in a blinding flash of light, the trailer emerged from the tunnel, out into the open Scorch.

* * *

It took them a few hours to reach Damman, and Teresa felt an uneasy sense of relief that the Order hadn't followed them. Yet, anyway. As they approached the city, it clearly became obvious that it was full of Cranks. Teresa wasn't stupid enough to hope that every fire in the city had to do with their friends. _Not the best choice for the meeting place,_ she decided.

Newt waved to them as soon as they entered the threshold into the city - the first building. Teresa got off the Trailer, Thomas and Harvey on her heels.

Newt eyed Thomas, then Harvey. "Bloody … "

"I'll explain later," Teresa said, waving him off. "I need water. Desperately."

But Newt wasn't listening. He was squinting at Harvey. "Are you … " he trailed off, and the question was obvious.

"Harvey Maldoon," Harvey completed. As soon as he finished his sentence, another figure came running out of the building - Clipper. Teresa could hardly imagine the joy the kid must be feeling right now.

"Holy … " Clipper breathed. "Harvey … "

"They're Biocopies," Teresa explained, hating to be the bearer of bad news. And hating the fact that there was much, much worse news ahead. "But they've somehow managed to overcome their programming."

"Both of 'em?" Newt asked. "So the real Tommy's still at Tunis?"

Teresa nodded in response. "Water. Please." Her tongue was parched, and she could barely say another word without water.

Newt opened his mouth to speak, but quickly cut himself off at the sight of Clipper. The boy was hugging onto Harvey with all his might - which was, not much. Teresa's eyes melted at the scene.

Then Newt asked the obvious, his face paling. "Where's Minho?"

A sharp pang of pain hit Teresa in the chest at hearing those words. "Dead. He committed _suicide_."

If Newt's expression had been fear bare moments ago, now it was outright horror.

* * *

Teresa got the water her body so desperately needed, and got the Rebel team into the loop of all activities that had occurred thus far at Tunis. Clipper was hanging on to Harvey like a lost father, even though just as horrified by Minho's death, and Newt was still explaining their activities in the city so far.

"The Cranks are staying away from us, not got a bloody clue why," he said, his voice still reeking of pain from the news of Minho's death. "Guess they recognise me as one of their own kind." The statement was not only completely morbid, but also utterly false.

Before Teresa could open her mouth to speak, Clipper pulled away from Harvey, a terrified expression on his face. "His tracker," Clipper stammered. "The Order knows where we are."


	33. Chapter 32

**Author's note:**

 **:fadingshadowss - They'll be back quite soon. I realise things are pretty boring without Thomas.  
**

 **Fourth hint: What Janson can do, Minho can, too.  
**

Teresa slammed her face onto her palm. How could she have forgotten the Trackers?

"Clip him, quick!" Newt yelled, and Clipper obliged. He picked up his Clipping device that was strewn somewhere around the room, then clipped Thomas, then Harvey, wincing himself as he did so.

"We need to get out of here," Teresa stammered. "Clipper, you need to go clip the sedated Biocopies, and we need to get out of here."

Clipper gave her a quick nod, before running into the Trailer, his Clipper in his arms. Before Teresa could move, Newt grabbed her by the shoulder, turning her around to face him.

"Listen," he said. "This Crank city has more than just Cranks. Clipper's been surfing the net, and it was apparently a secret site for storage of nuclear material."

Teresa was completely bewildered by what Newt had just said. Plus, sitting in a city with Cranks and nuclear weapons sounded like a very bad idea.

"Clipper said the Order's sent one of their best teams to look out for us," Newt continued, "And Timothy and I've got a plan to destroy it."

Like that was the most important priority right now.

"There's no way we can remotely detonate the nuclear material," Newt explained.

Teresa cut him off, things falling into place for her. "We need to detonate it from the inside. Who's gonna do it?"

"Timothy, but now with Minho dead, I have nothing to live for."

Teresa was sent into complete shock by Newt's words. Before the boy could turn around, Teresa grabbed him by the shoulder, then spun him around. "You are _not_ detonating the shuck bombs. You _do_ have a lot to live for. The world. Anastasia. Thomas. Brenda, your sister who's already going to be devastated by Minho's death. You think Minho's death wasn't enough?"

Newt's expression had been a simple scowl until Teresa mentioned Brenda. "Okay," Newt said dumbly at last, his eyes widening as if Teresa's words had somehow enlightened him.

Clipper came running into the room, Timothy on his heels. "All clipped," he announced, his palms sweaty and his breaths slightly heavy. He turned to face Timothy. "You sure about this?" So Clipper knew about this. Of course he knew.

"As sure as ey ever wuhs, vorkin' for de Order when Drake had his chip implanted in me," Timothy said firmly. "Ey'm goin' to-h redeem myself todhai."

 _Redeem himself today, or redeem himself to die?_ Teresa wondered. "Okay."

"The Order's best Berg is two hundred miles away," Clipper informed. "Newt, ready your whistle."

 _Whistle?_ Teresa thought, but understood when Clipper handed Newt a computer to send a message to the Order.

 _You have friends among the Rebels,_ Newt bluffed to the Order, attaching a clip of their location _._ Teresa just hoped the security was strong enough that the Order didn't recognise their bluff.

"Harvey or Thomas could send a distress call," Teresa suggested. "Could help Drake think that he's still on their side. We could use that to our advantage."

Clipper looked at her for a brief moment, before nodding, then turning to Harvey. His mouth opened, but Harvey was already on his own little device, messaging the Order. Teresa ran over, glancing over Harvey's back to read the message.

 **They have me captured,** Harvey had written. **They're at Damman right now. My tracker has been terminated. Toilet was my best excuse to send this. I don't know how long I will live.**

Teresa felt a sharp pang of sadness at the last sentence. Thomas's Failsafe would kill all Biocopies, and if whatever they were to plan was to include Harvey going to Tunis, Harvey wouldn't live long.

Brushing the thought aside, she raced for the Rebels' Berg, the rest of the Rebel team on her heels, leaving only Timothy behind to detonate the explosives wherever they were in the city.

Luckily, their Berg had been spared this time.


	34. Chapter 33

**Author's note:**

 **:Olive62 - Thanks. I'll summarise the stuff so far in the Author's note of the next chapter. Also, I hope my story didn't _actually_ make you suicidal.  
**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes - Yep. I mentioned that in Chapters 24 to 25 (technically Chapters 25 to 26, due to the Prologue being Chapter 0).**

 **:fadingshadows - Your wish will be fulfilled ... soon. Hopefully.**

 **Fifth hint: They thought they had one Thomas, now they have two. They thought they have zero Minho, now...**

Clipper clipped her on the Berg. Teresa hadn't thought about that - the Order had, obviously, placed a Tracker on her.

Twenty minutes later, a mushroom cloud emerged from the Crank city. Damman had been annihilated.

Then finally, the wall came tumbling down. The wall between her and her emotions that her subconscious had built a long time ago.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Minho, dead. Timothy, dead. All the near-death experiences she had just gone through over the past few hours. She could barely believe that it had all happened within just a few hours.

She didn't think sleep would overcome her, but it did.

Someone shook her awake. It was Clipper. "We're getting off," he informed. "Berg's landed already."

Teresa swung her weary legs off the couch. A numbness gnawed at her insides as she walked to the Hatch. She helped haul the still-sedated Biocopies out of the Berg for the testing. Teresa had no idea if she could go through all that again if the tests were to fail. She hoped, sincerely, that Thomas had done his coding right.

Teresa planned the tests as Newt managed the 'logistics' of moving the Biocopies into the testing room, protecting the Biocopies outside from the Failsafe playing inside. Teresa didn't quite understand why Newt made it to be such an important thing, but she didn't find it in herself to care.

 _The sound of light,_ Thomas had said. Teresa knew what it meant. _Light_ referred to Hydrogen, the lightest element. The sound of Hydrogen. Which didn't make sense. But _the sound of light_ also meant something else - to translate the electromagnetic radiation (light) emitted by the Hydrogen into sound waves.

A Fourier series with the Rydberg spectrum determining the coefficients, emitted acoustically.

They played the tests, as Thomas and Harvey were kept safe, away from the Biocopies and the playing Failsafe.

Each test changed the number of Biocopies, the state of them, the background noise, the volume of the Failsafe, among other things.

It worked every time.

Relief flooded Teresa. Thomas had done his job perfectly. _Passsafe_ , she sent the message to Thomas.

Teresa counted the number of Biocopies tested. It wasn't right. Just one less than the number they had gathered. She ignored the error - it had to be a counting issue on her side.

Newt came into the room, a cheerful expression on his face. "It worked, huh?"

"Yeah," Teresa replied somberly. "It worked."

Newt opened his mouth to speak, and that was when Teresa snapped.

"How can you be so goddamn happy, Newt? After you've committed the kind of blunder you have? Minho's dead because of _your_ shucky plan of sending him after me! We discussed this earlier! One person was the safest best, two was the worst. And look how well you did!" Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

Newt looked completely aghast, but all he said was: "Tommy wouldn't have wanted us to send you there alone."

"You know nothing about _Tommy_!" Teresa screamed in response. "Let me tell you this: _Tommy_ is above this stupid well-intentioned crap that leads to obviously shucky consequences! _Tommy_ is smart enough to understand that two people cannot fake in an interrogation! _Tommy_ is smart enough to understand that we need to prioritise stealth over manpower on a mission like this! _Tommy_ wouldn't have wanted Minho to die! To–"

"Neither did I," Newt interrupted. "And I can't live without one of my best friends."

"What are you talking about?" Teresa asked, her rage suddenly radiating away at that statement. But if this was some shucking suicide plan …

"Tell her, Clip," Newt said, nodding towards the Rebel Leader. _What now?_ Teresa thought.

Clipper shot Teresa a half-smile. "We're keeping one of Minho's Biocopies. Taking the Swipe out."

 **Author's note:**

 **There you go. I didn't need to give you a hint before this chapter, did I?**


	35. Chapter 34

**Author's note:**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes, Guest[2] – Well, once they remove the Swipe, it's the same Minho; the same mind, pretty much the same body. It's like distinguishing two electrons, or two water molecules, or something. You just can't – all electrons are the same. In fact, if you read this chapter, you'll realise Minho will feel like he** _ **is**_ **the original Minho; like the two Minhos are equally valid branches of the original Minho. I suppose Brenda might require some explaining, but … they'll cross the bridge when they come to it.**

 **:Guest[1] – Once you remove the Swipe, the Failsafe disappears as well.**

Minho's Biocopy was the first to have his Swipe removed. He took a seat next to Newt, grunting as he did so. Teresa thought she should apologise to Newt for having raged over the goof-up, but she didn't. It _was_ a major goof-up, and she couldn't have Newt think it was okay.

"Welcome back to the world, shank," Newt murmured, engulfing Minho in a bear hug.

Teresa asked a perhaps rather inappropriate question. "Do you remember how you died, Minho?"

Minho looked confused. "Wait, what the shuck? I look pretty much freakin' alive to me. Welcome back to the world? What are you shuckin' talking about? Last thing I remember is having a bag thrown on my head, then getting knocked out."

It made sense. Minho's suicide had occurred _after_ he was Biocopied. The Biocopy process had obviously occurred while they were knocked out.

"You committed suicide," Teresa supplied, perhaps not so helpfully. "Stuck a needle in your throat. You … are a Biocopy. We removed your Swipe."

"He's not a bloody Biocopy, Teresa," Newt grunted. "He's the real Minho."

Impossibly, the conversation seemed to almost bore Minho - like he didn't care at all. Teresa was surprised by his indifference, but she could understand - Minho's memories told him he was the real Minho. And it was true. If you couldn't distinguish between two objects, they were the same. There was no reason why this shouldn't apply to people. _Positivism for the win_ , Teresa thought.

"Oh," Minho said at last, then quickly glanced at Newt, then back down at his table, emotion finally beginning to take shape on his face - only shame. Teresa knew the look had to do with Newt's suicide attempt. For some reason, Teresa's own memories had once turned a little fuzzy about that the first few months after getting them back. Her memory seemed fine now.

Minho didn't even look surprised as to why he might have committed suicide. Had he planned it all the while? Teresa had no idea why he'd do that.

Thomas's Biocopy was next to have his Swipe removed. Just to ensure that the Biocopy had indeed lost his loyalty to Drake. Nothing changed for him after the Changing, and he confirmed that he'd lost his loyalty to Drake back in the interrogation room. That was a huge relief.

Harvey didn't rise from his seat at his turn to have the Swipe removed. Instead, he glanced at Clipper, who nodded then turned to face the rest of the Rebels.

"I think it's best if Harvey keeps his Swipe on," Clipper said, much to Teresa's surprise. "It might be useful to have a Biocopy who's got Drake's trust."

Newt stepped up. "And if he's lying? Sure, Tommy's Biocopy might have had a change of loyalties, but Harvey's might just have imitated him."

Clipper looked almost annoyed to have to defend Harvey. "Harvey's good," the boy insisted unhelpfully, before explaining more usefully. "I'm monitoring his Killzone monitor, and I've hacked it against being influenced by the Swipe."

That was enough for Teresa, but she was nevertheless afraid that Clipper might try to reinstate Harvey as the Rebel Leader. And that seemed like a very bad idea to her, regardless of how much they could trust Harvey.

"That's alright," she said, "But we can't trust him like he were the original Harvey. Please, Bennett. I know what he means to you and all that, but we can't afford to trust him too much, especially considering the fact that we don't know if his loyalties might swing back."

Clipper stared at, or rather through her for a second, before nodding. Sadness reeked from his expression. It was obvious the kid wanted to trust Harvey completely, tell him everything. Harvey shrugged in understanding.

"And remove his telepathic routers," Teresa added, still feeling slightly paranoid. They were still within a metal cage right now, but it would be terribly dangerous if Harvey were to disclose the location of Mount Meron.

* * *

Hours later, Newt came to sit by Teresa.

"I'm sorry for freaking out," Teresa said at last. "I was just overwhelmed by … all the death. It's been a while since we've had that."

Newt laughed lightly. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. Sending two people on the mission was not the best idea." He paused. "Sometimes I wonder. If he's really the same Minho at all."

Newt's gaze was towards Minho - well, his Biocopy - who was arguing with Clipper over something. Minho made some sort of a teasing remark, to which Clipper rolled his eyes and quickly returned a comeback. Minho began gesturing around himself, then rolled up his sleeves and slapped his biceps.

"Well," Teresa said, still eyeing the scene before her. "If it sasses like a Minho, teases like a Minho, and rages like a Minho, then it probably is a Minho."

 **Author's note:**

 **Quick recap of events since the last recap:**

 **Thomas completed his work on the Failsafe, but it's obviously a pretty complicated piece of code, and he needs Teresa and the rest to test it, just to be safe. He's informed them that Drake runs a Biocopy factory in a heavily-guarded compound called Riyadh. The Rebels have no way of entering the compound by conventional means, so they resort to a pretty dangerous method: getting caught on purpose.**

 **The Order would interrogate them, naturally, and then Teresa would have to somehow sneak out with a shipment (of Biocopies) and hijack it. It's obvious that this would work best when only one person is caught, because two people have no way of lying in an interrogation (unless they have a telepathic link like Thomas and Teresa).**

 **Everything is according to plan until Minho decides to "help" Teresa by joining her in getting caught. Teresa's memories are temporarily altered by Clipper during the time that the Order Biocopies her (so that the Order doesn't get hold on important Rebel information, e.g. the fact that Thomas is working undercover). Once she gets her real memories back, she learns that Clipper knew of Minho's stupid idea.**

 **Teresa's bluff is an ambiguous "strike" in eight hours, which means the Order has to keep her alive and interrogate her, rather than just Biocopying her and asking the Biocopy, because the Biocopy takes 24 hours to print.**

 **Teresa's interrogator ends up being a Biocopy of Thomas. Thomas's Biocopy malfunctions upon seeing Teresa, and agrees to help her. Minho realises his mistake, and commits suicide in hopes of letting Teresa bluff in the interrogation. Teresa contacts the real Thomas and explains her situation. The real Thomas asks for an excess shipment to Tunis, so that each shipment has fewer guards guarding it, making it easier for Teresa to sneak out of a shipment.**

 **Thomas's Biocopy helps Teresa sneak into a shipment containing Biocopies of herself and Minho. They kill all the guards on the trailer, but one of them, who happens to be Harvey's Biocopy, survives and captures Thomas's Biocopy and Teresa for interrogation. Teresa mentions Bennett, which causes Harvey's Biocopy to malfunction.**

 **They hijack the trailer, and Teresa makes contact to Clipper and asks him to meet her at a city called Damman. The city is full of Cranks, but more importantly, it houses reserves of nuclear material. They contact the Order (who's sent some of their best teams after Teresa and the rest) and pretend to be spies in the Rebels on the side of the Order, calling their attention to Damman. Timothy (the old Biocopy they had first captured months ago) traps the Order troops and detonates the nuclear material from the inside, killing himself in the process.**

 **Teresa and the rest test the Biocopies by seeing if they die when the Failsafe is played, and bingo: it works. Newt, who is completely distraught by Minho's death, has an idea to "revive" Minho: by keeping one of Minho's Biocopies and taking out his Swipe.**

 **They do the same to Thomas's Biocopy, but Harvey's Biocopy refuses, saying that it might be useful to have a Biocopy whom Drake actually trusts. The Rebels decide to keep monitoring Harvey's killzone patterns for anything unusual.**

 **Oh, and next chapter will be from Thomas POV.**


	36. Chapter 35

**Author's note:**

 **I'll be writing more detail about Minho in coming chapters, just to remind us all that he's still the same Minho (think about it this way: each time they pass through a Flat Trans, their bodies are being disintegrated molecule-by-molecule and re-assembled from "new" particles on the other side. It's like being 3D-scanned, then shot with a Transvice, then having the 3D-scan reprinted. They're still the same people, aren't they?)**

 **:ngsie – Why would they kill him off? His Biocopy malfunctioned (lost loyalty to Drake) on its own, not by removing the Swipe for the sake of it.**

A week had passed since Thomas had completed his work for Drake. And the Failsafe - which, according to Teresa, had worked perfectly. Thomas could only hope that they were all well and safe. He had to assume they were. And now was the last phase of the plan. The escape.

And even though Thomas hadn't revealed this part of the plan to anyone, he had an idea. A horrible, horrible idea. But he had to do it. He knew he had to do it. And part of the plan was to lose Drake's trust.

And so here he was, at Drake's office, to deliver a message that would perhaps horrify Drake.

"Drake," he said calmly, "I … I'm in a kind of dilemma. I've lately started to lose faith in this project."

Drake's head snapped up.

"I mean … " Thomas continued. "Israel wasn't involved in WICKED and all, so I wonder if they really do still exist. And they didn't really ever attack us, now … "

"Execute him," Drake said. Thomas was quick to realise that Drake was talking not to him, but to the guards.

Thomas raised his head, shocked and frozen in fear. He'd thought Drake would Biocopy him first, give him a window for escape!

And then Drake released a groan. "Biocopy him first, then execute him. I keep forgetting we lost … "

Johannes - Drake's eldest son - approached Thomas and reached for his arm, when Thomas snapped out of his daze. Thomas snapped his arm away from Johannes, and then he bolted. Guards ran after him, firing Launcher grenades of all forms and sizes, but Thomas managed to sneak out of the room unscathed.

"Capture him!" Drake yelled. "We need him alive!"

Thomas kept running. He had to survive, had to make it back to the Rebels. He wasn't going to die.

"Capture him!" Drake's voice bellowed from the room.

Thomas turned a corner just as Johannes emerged from Drake's office, surrounded by more Order guards, Launchers trained at Thomas. He dived, avoiding the strew of Grenades.

Thomas made a run for the window, the guard at the corner frozen in shock. Thomas let his fist connect with the man's gut, before jumping out of the window. A rush of air flew past him as Thomas grabbed a ledge, almost dislocating his shoulder as he did so. He jumped again, grabbing another ledge, then another, until his feet touched the floor.

 _Now,_ Thomas called into Teresa's head, before making a run for the military reserve chambers.

Almost immediately came a rumbling crack from somewhere distant on the roof of Tunis, somewhere outside Capital Square, quickly followed by the alarm. That had to be his cue to escape - a diversion to distract the Order forces into something that was possibly even more important - well, except Thomas knew it was not. The Roof wasn't actually going to collapse.

"Cover! Cover!" Someone yelled. Then: "Order troops, steady yourselves!"

Thomas continued running, nobody taking any notice of him in the chaos. He rounded a corner, and then another, then slowed down to walk, walking confidently past the next set of guards, realising only Drake knew about his late … rebelliousness. They gave him a quick nod, but it was frantic, fearful of the alarm.

Thomas went straight to the military reserve chambers.

"May I help you, sir?" A guard asked, the only one situated there. His voice trembled in an unearthly fashion.

Thomas bluffed quickly. "I'll need some explosive-launchers. For my work on mechanising Biocopies."

"Weapons hangar," the guard said, before giving Thomas the directions.

Thomas followed the guard's directions, wanting to get out of Tunis as quickly as possible.

One of the guards at the weapons hangar approached him and stopped him. "What would you like, sir?"

"I'll need some stuff for mechanising the Biocopies," Thomas said, repeating his bluff. "I need to have it done quick."

"We could have it delivered to your office," the guard offered unhelpfully. "Just tell us the–"

"I'll know what I need when I see it," Thomas snapped, putting as much authority as he could into his voice. "Now move."

The guard suddenly started trembling, then nodded quickly. Thomas simply pushed past him.

Bombvices. Launchbombs. Flamerbombs. Thomas stashed them into his backpack, still secure within their launching devices. But when he turned towards the exit, guards milled there, their Launchers trained on Thomas.

"Just received a message from Drake," the same old guard said. "About you being a fugitive."

Thomas acted quickly. He whipped out a Bombvice launching device, and before the guards knew what was happening, launched at them a tiny Bombvice that couldn't annihilate more than a cent of land. He scrambled back immediately as the Bombvice exploded, annihilating all living matter at the exit. The actual buildings, of course, were Trans-resistant.

Thomas scrambled out of the weapons hangar as soon as the grey cloth-like material subsided at the exit. He bolted for the All-Tunisite elevators, and no guard stood in his way. Until he reached the elevators themselves, of course.

Thomas fired a larger Bombvice at the elevators, killing all Order employees who guarded it. He felt sick on the inside. These guys had lives of their own, families to take care of, had heard lies from Drake. They didn't deserve to die.

But neither did the human race.

Thomas kept moving, and let the elevator charge up.

 _Clear?_ He called. Teresa would understand - it was a message, telling them to clear the top of the Roof of all Order guards.

A whizzing sound came from the roof, and Teresa replied. _Clear._

The elevator surfaced from Tunis without any further surprises. Thomas scrambled out, the Berg hovered right above him.

Even though he knew Clipper had disabled the surveillance cameras, Thomas decided not to take any chances, and yelled: "Hey, I wanna quit the Order! Are you Rebels? Can you take me in?"

Before Thomas knew what was going on, a layery flash of grey left the Berg, then zipped through the air, towards him, engulfing him.

He emerged through a Flat Trans. He was inside the Berg, surrounded by his friends. Teresa. Minho. Newt. Clipper. Some other man who looked familiar, but Thomas didn't quite care at the moment. And a mirror. What was a mirror doing here?

The next few moments were a blur to Thomas. Clipper clipped him, Thomas wincing at the pain the device caused. There was a brief reunion, hugs were exchanged, Teresa teased him endlessly about his hairstyle.

But Thomas needed to be alone. He desperately needed a moment alone, to let out everything he'd been holding within himself for months.

So he broke away from the reunion, to make for a small cabin, then collapsed onto the bed, his body screaming with emotional exhaustion.

Then, at last, came the tears.


	37. Chapter 36

**Author's note:**

 **:nzOptimist – You're completely right about the memories. I will do the Minho-Brenda thing in a sequel, probably; I have the basic ideas for the sequels planned out on my profile if you're interested.**

 **:fadingshadowss – I estimate that the story is about 70% to the end. So still a good while remains, and I'll be continuing with another sequel.**

Thomas had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions. He'd always thought he could, that he could hide them, fake his emotions, but the two months at Tunis proved him wrong. Sure, it wasn't too hard to stop his emotions from over-influencing his actions; he did that all the time. But to hold them back, to fake them, was torture to his mind.

He'd finally stopped crying, but his mind still remained sore from everything he'd had to do for the Order.

Drake hadn't unveiled the Biocopies yet, so any 'fugitive' caught by a Biocopy was executed by another Order employee.

And very often, that honour had been his.

Images flashed through Thomas's mind. The look on Jeffrey Winston's face as Thomas lowered his children into the flames because their mother had raised a voice against Drake. The cries of Anthony Nelson as Thomas set fire to his wife because of Anthony's curiosity as to the historical details of the Israel-Tunisian wars. The slaps on the back that Drake had delivered him, proud of Thomas's … achievements.

A knock sounded on the door. "Tom?" Teresa's voice came muffled through the door.

"Come in," Thomas mumbled. He wouldn't mind Teresa's presence right then.

The door swung open almost immediately, and Teresa entered, worry written all over her face. She pulled the door close and sat down beside Thomas, looking at him as if she was afraid he might explode any moment if she touched him or said anything. A long silence stretched between them, but it was comforting for Thomas.

"What's wrong?" she asked at last, breaking the quiet.

Thomas wasn't sure how to respond. Or if he wanted to. Deciding that it would be best to share his grief a little, he opened his mouth to speak. "I just … I've had to do so many things I'm not proud of, Teresa."

Teresa nodded in understanding. "Executions?"

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, and … for an end goal that isn't even certain. What if Drake decides to revert all my changes to his code? What if … I don't know I did more harm than good."

Teresa scoffed. "You think Drake wouldn't get someone else to perform the executions?"

Thomas knew she was right, of course, but he simply couldn't get the images out of his head. How could he not see their wails each time he closed his eyes? "I know … I just … I had no outlet, Teresa. If I cried, Drake would know. If I wrote a hate speech, Drake would know. If I tried to vent my emotions in anyway, Drake would know."

Teresa's face softened, and she took his hand and squeezed it. "You did the right thing, I can assure you that. The only harm you did was having implemented Drake's … strengthening and all. But you had to do it. There was no way you could have built the Failsafe in without doing that."

Of course Thomas knew all that, but he nevertheless felt much better hearing it all from Teresa's mouth. "Thanks," was all he could manage.

Teresa brought up her left palm, stroking his cheek gently, then turned his head to look at her. Their lips connected.

It had been only two months, but the kiss carried so much nostalgia. He'd felt her presence in his skull all the time, but he'd still missed her like hell. Teresa pulled away, leaving both of them breathing heavily. Thomas could hardly believe how she'd made him feel so much better just with a few words and a kiss.

"Get rid of that Order uniform," Teresa ordered through a snicker, "You're barely tolerable."

Thomas groaned, but nodded. He didn't exactly want the Order uniform on, either. A memory of the horrible stuff he'd had to do for the Order - no, for Drake. Thomas chose to concentrate all his anger on one person.


	38. Chapter 37

"The language systems were the easiest functions to hack through for the conditionals," Thomas explained. He was in the middle of telling the Rebels how he'd managed to code the Failsafe in, a task that dumbfounded even Thomas himself after everything he'd done.

"And the actual operation?" Teresa pressed, asking the obvious. "How did you get them to die?"

"I had to do more than just provide APIs to adjust the strength of the Biocopies," Thomas admitted. That was the most dangerous part, really. "Remember the stuff Drake wanted in his final iteration of the Biocopies? Making it loyal-or-dead?"

Clipper nodded. "Yeah. Making the things die once you remove the Swipe."

Thomas nodded back. "Yeah. I had no choice. It … was the only way I could actually work in a command to kill the Biocopies."

Teresa must have noticed his drop in mood, because she gently touched his arm, pressing her fingers down on it slightly.

"Anyway," Thomas said, trying to sound a little more chipper. "I managed to hack in the whole death-order thing as a condition along with the stuff on the Swipe. Be glad the whole thing is an unconscious action, or we'd never be able to override the self-preservation instincts. I don't have a shucking clue how the brain works."

"Hm," Clipper considered, then frowned. "But … we removed the Swipe from your and–" he cut himself off, exchanging a weird glance with Teresa. " … your Biocopy."

Thomas knew about that - Teresa had told him about the whole Riyadh mess. Thomas had expected that Clipper had more of an idea about the entrance to Drake's underground tunnels. He had no clue what he'd have done if something had happened to Teresa or Minho. Why did the latter shuck decide to secretly join Teresa on the mission, anyway? Didn't he know that they were going to be _interrogated_?

"I mean," Clipper continued. "Maybe your Biocopy was old but … " Another weird glance. Thomas was getting suspicious now. "I mean, it would have updated, right?"

Thomas sighed. "I worked in a 'bug' with the whole death thing that time," he revealed. "Just in case you needed to play with the Swipe for whatever reason. Like if you wanted the help of a Biocopy."

"Oh," Clipper said, "Okay." Another weird exchange of glances.

Thomas had enough. He slammed his arms down on the table. "What's going on? Why do you two keep acting like you have a secret?" He delivered a harsh glare to Teresa, then to Clipper. "Even in the test descriptions for the Biocopies. There are … " he stopped speaking, as realisation dawned on him. One test less from Minho's Biocopies than from Teresa's. Clipper's acting like there was … someone else they'd removed the Swipe from. "The missing Biocopy … it was Minho, wasn't it? This guy here … he's … he was once … a Biocopy. Minho's … dead … Isn't it?"

Teresa looked away, then nodded slowly, tears glistening in her blue eyes.

Thomas could hardly believe it. "How?"

"Suicide," Newt replied, looking in yet another direction. "He killed himself so at least one of them could get out of Riyadh."

Thomas felt the world crash down on him. "How could you shucks have possibly been so stupid?" he asked, his voice kept mostly to himself. "How could you have sent two people on a … no, it's my shuckin' fault. I shouldn't have expected you shanks to know so much about the Order." Of course Clipper hadn't known about Riyadh. It was the Order's most securely guarded facility.

But he couldn't help but be angry that his friends had kept the truth away from him. That Teresa had kept the truth away from him.

"Let's focus on the future," Thomas said at last. "Forgive me for being a little pissed that I wasn't told earlier, but it doesn't matter. He's the same Minho."

"True," Clipper agreed. "We need to focus on the future." The boy glanced at his laptop. "According to my spies, Drake's pretty anxious to get you back. He's afraid you know too many of their secrets, and he wants to get a Biocopy of you to work for him. Won't work, just like with Harvey, according to your old Biocopy over here."

Clipper continued speaking, talking about how Drake's been sending search teams to the Mediterranean and even further beyond. But Thomas could only focus on one thing - the sheer similarity of the whole situation to Harvey's escape. And that only told Thomas that his decision had been right.

"For now," Clipper said finally, "We need to focus on destroying the Biocopies. Drake's going to be unveiling them in a week. His security from non-Biocopy personnel would be weak and bogged down. All we need to do is to shut the Biocopies down, then break into Drake's Lineage Palace, and kill Drake and his kiddies."

"We can use the all-Tunis alarm system," Thomas offered. "But only Biocopies are allowed to access that."

Clipper nodded towards Harvey in response, but then a contemplative look formed across his features. "Not sure if Drake will trust him, though. Going missing for one month … "

Thomas sighed, ready to unveil his plans. "You've done this before," he said, "Getting Drake's trust. When you marched Harvey to Tunis. This time, it's my face on the wanted poster."


	39. Chapter 38

**Author's note:**

 **There will be some Thomesa almost-smut (is that called lime?) in this chapter, but the other stuff is kinda important.**

 **:Guest[1] – Yes.**

 **:Guest[2] – Yes to both questions.**

A mood of reserved shock overcame the Rebels immediately after Thomas had put forth his proposal. Nobody spoke for a very long time.

"There's no way I'm letting that happen," Teresa snapped, the first to break the silence. But her face was pale with horror, showing that she knew Thomas was going to make sure this plan went through. And she was right on that. "We can't … we … you're … you're important to … you're the Prime Keeper … " she fumbled for words. Thomas understood - Teresa was looking for excuses to save him. But that didn't mean she was right.

"No," Thomas said firmly. "It's worth the risk. This is the only way. Eliminating Drake and his Order is essential to the survival of the human race."

Teresa's head snapped up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And you're not?"

Thomas shrugged. "I'm not so important anymore. You can always replace me, you–"

"That's bullshit and you know it, Thomas!" Before Thomas could say another word, Teresa was off her seat, walking towards the exit. "I'm going to make sure this stupid plan of yours doesn't progress anywhere." She paused. "With my life if need be."

And then Teresa left the room, slamming the door behind her in a terribly childish gesture. Thomas's attention kept going to her last sentence. He hoped, with all his heart, that she didn't mean that.

After a long pause, he asked, eyeing every person in the room: "I take it you all are with me?" Minho, Newt, and even Clipper looked far from agreeable with his proposal, but they kept quiet. "Then I'll go take care of her," Thomas said, before walking off to find Teresa.

* * *

He found Teresa in his own room, sitting on the edge of the bed, her face streaked with tears. She didn't acknowledge his presence, but didn't tell him to leave either. A development, perhaps?

"Don't you dare blackmail me on my plan with your life," Thomas said, his voice coming out harsher than he'd intended it to. "I'm going no matter what, so we could probably do this wasting less lives?"

Teresa glared at him. "I think I could very well do without your shucky snide comments here." She paused. "I don't intend to talk to you."

Thomas actually laughed: Teresa's glare hardened.

"You're in my room, Teresa," Thomas pointed out. "So I take it it's because you want to talk to me."

If it was even possible, Teresa's glare hardened further, but it soon melted away, and she looked away at the far wall.

Thomas sighed, then sat down next to her, putting an arm around her and pulling her close to his body. "I'm not that important now. My work at Vaidehi as Prime Keeper is mostly over. You can fill my shoes, Teresa. It's important to stop Drake immediately. Before he releases the Biocopies. We're running out of time, and this is the only way."

Teresa looked at him, tears still flooding from her eyes, and if Thomas didn't know her better, he'd have mistaken the look for betrayal. But it was desperation. Helplessness. Teresa knew he was right, and was trying to find every excuse to keep him safe.

This wasn't going to work. Thomas tried another approach.

"Hey," he said, holding Teresa's face and wiping her tears with his thumb. "I'm not going to die, okay? It won't be so easy to get rid of me. I'm going to find a way to come back annoy you forever."

Teresa sniffled her tears only slightly, and Thomas decided it was better than nothing. He leaned over to kiss her on the lips, but Teresa looked away and shrugged his arm off her. "I don't want to miss you too much when you die," she said, again with the childish voice.

Thomas chuckled slightly. "But I want you to."

Teresa scowled at him. "So what? You're going to be dead anyway." Thomas couldn't believe how morbid she was getting.

"You can't just stop caring, Teresa," Thomas said with a sigh, placing his hand on hers, then turning it over so it was facing his. "I'm probably not going to die, but if I do, we could perhaps be on better terms on my last week of life?"

Teresa suddenly gasped, as if shocked by his words, then flung her arms around his torso, pressing her face to his chest, surprising him. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean that. Learning that you're going on a suicide mission does horrible things to my head."

Thomas wrapped his own arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly. "I don't blame you," he admitted. "I wouldn't have had a much better reaction if our roles were reversed."

Teresa pulled away, but it was a while before she responded. "I don't trust Harvey. Not one bit."

"You trusted him to the very point I suggested him marching me to Tunis." Thomas gently touched the small of her back. "Let's not be selfish, Teresa. Please?"

Teresa didn't respond.

"Hey," Thomas said, lifting her chin gently. "Remember when I tried to break you out of WICKED before the Trials started? Remember how you'd screamed at me for being a selfish shuck? Well, now we're equal, and at least I'm being nice about it."

Teresa still didn't respond, but Thomas could still hear the sound of sobs. The plan wasn't going to work if Teresa remained in this mental state.

"Okay," Thomas said, raising her chin. "Let's have a deal." Teresa's eyes met his, and the hope in her eyes broke Thomas's heart. "I'll let you do all the planning you want on making sure Drake doesn't manage to execute me, and you stop crying like a baby everywhere."

It worked. Teresa's face hardened, and she wiped her tears off with the back of her hand, then said: "Deal."

Thomas couldn't hold back a victorious grin. Teresa grinned back at the sight of that, and for some reason, that reminded Thomas of their first meeting nearly a decade ago. And then Teresa pulled him by the shirt, onto the bed, pinning him down by the arms and legs. Thomas pushed her off, not surprised to the least at how much strength that took.

And then they were wrestling, punching and shoving each other and pulling each other's arms and legs. Wrestling like they'd been when they were ten - Teresa almost always used to win back then. Thomas finally managed to pin her down by the arms and legs, using all his strength into keep her there.

"I'm not … hurting you, am I?" he managed to croak out.

Teresa scowled for the umpteenth time that day. "Tom … we're _wrestling_ … Not … making out … We're supposed … to … " Of course, Thomas was sure that was exactly what the wrestling session was going to turn into.

"Okay, I win," Thomas breathed, as they both relaxed their holds. "Ten seconds passed already. Admit your defeat already."

Teresa let out an exaggerated sigh, and a small smirk found its way to Thomas's lips, as he closed the distance between them. And his previous guess turned out to be completely right as they kissed each other out of breath, their hands roaming around each other's body.

Suddenly, the clothes between them seemed like a thick mattress separating them, and they slowly came off until they were nothing but skin under sheets. Teresa - her skin looked so flawless to him - every freckle, every scar only made her look prettier. But she looked beautiful to him because he loved her, not the other way around. If somebody transplanted her brain into a toaster, Thomas would want to take the toaster everywhere along with him. It was the cheesiest thought he'd had in his life, but he meant it completely.

"Are you sure about this?" Thomas asked. A hundred thoughts crossed his mind that moment. If he was going to die, wasn't he making it even more difficult for Teresa to get over him? What if Teresa got pregnant? What if this made it even harder for Teresa to accept the plan?

"Yes," Teresa replied, her voice firm, full of conviction.

"But what if you … " Thomas trailed off.

"Get pregnant?" Teresa completed for him, "Does it matter? We're here seven more days, then we bid goodbye to Drake and his Order."

Thomas realised that was Teresa's own strange way of telling him she accepted the plan. And if Minho could be a father, they could hell sure be parents, too.

And then they united.


	40. Chapter 39

**Author's note:**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes – I'll be uploading another sequel after this, and that might make an interesting plotline…**

 **:Guest[1] – Maybe, maybe not, but I'm surely not telling whether they'll tell Brenda : ) If they do, it will be in a sequel rather than this story.**

 **:Guest[2] – It would be kind of clichéd, but I'm not dismissing the possibility.**

 **:Olive62 – They can. After removing the Swipe, that is. Not telling the future plot details, for obvious reasons.  
**

 **:fadingshadowss – He's not lonely. See The Second Chance.**

Teresa remained curled in his arms when they woke up. Their legs were intertwined, her hand on Thomas's cheek, and her hair and clothes were messed up like she'd fought a war overnight. Somehow, they'd managed to find their clothes right. Thomas wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea of waking up with Teresa's bra on. That would make for a great prank idea, now that Thomas thought about it. Speaking of pranks …

Minho.

Shuck. Aharon had assigned Thomas's room with Minho. _Minho._ That shuckface would've figured it all out from just looking at the locked room. Thomas groaned inwardly. He wasn't sure he could survive a round of Minho's teasing remarks on _this_ issue.

Teresa stirred in her sleep, then her eyes slowly fluttered open. She glanced around, as if slowly taking in her surroundings, then smiled. "Hey," Thomas managed.

"Hey to you too," was Teresa's answer. Before Thomas could say anything else, Teresa pushed his chest gently until she lay on top of him, her cheek resting on his chest.

"We should get going," Thomas said.

After a long silence, Teresa spoke. "I take it you're not going back on that shucky plan of yours?"

"Nope," Thomas admitted. "And I take it you'll honour our deal? Not go around crying like a little baby?"

Teresa rolled her eyes, but nodded.

* * *

Thomas wasn't surprised at all to see Minho snickering at him the moment Thomas entered Aharon's kitchen. "Why was the door locked last night?"

"Uh … sorry," Thomas managed as he took a seat next to the older boy. "I guess I slept too much. Where'd you sleep?"

"Slept or slept _with_?" Minho snickered. "Bennett let me sleep in his room. Had to explain that my dear shuckface was having the time of his life with his girlfriend."

Thomas scoffed. "You're the one talking. You're going to be a shuckin' father in a couple of months."

Minho released a low snicker. "Can't believe you two shanks didn't do it earlier. You two've been together since what, ten years?"

Seven, actually, but Thomas refrained from correcting him. "Are you going to eat your shuck food?"

Minho snickered. "You still sound like a complete idiot when using Glader terms."

"Good that," it was Newt, walking towards them. His limp was less obvious than it had once been. Newt plopped down beside Minho, his expression turning somber. "You still sure about getting marched to Tunis by Harvey?"

Thomas nodded.

"And Teresa?" Newt pressed. "Did you convince her to come?"

Thomas shrugged. "She didn't intend to _not come_. She intended to stop the plan." Teresa hadn't actually told him that, but Thomas knew her well enough to say that. Her point was never about her staying where it was safe. "She's good."

Newt spoke after a long while, looking almost close to tears. "You aren't intending to come out of this alive, do you, Tommy?"

In truth, Newt was right. Thomas did not exactly _intend_ to come out of this alive. He hoped to, and thought there might have been a good chance of doing so, but that was all. But he couldn't give in to any doubt. Not now. So he said: "I am."

The last time this conversation had happened was when they were escaping the Maze. About how many people would die.

This did not bode well.


	41. Chapter 40

**Author's note:**

 **:Olive62 - Hey, I didn't confirm or deny anything.**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes - Well, that was _before_ removing the Swipe. **

**But I'm not confirming or denying anything. Maybe I'll do another Minho. Maybe I'll do a 13th reality (where James Dashner made the protagonist into some kind of a weird ghost merged with the universe). Or maybe I'll just let Thomas live. Of course, if you've read the story and the author's notes in good enough detail, the ending should be obvious, at least out of these three...**

The rest of the week was hell for Thomas.

Harvey prepared the malware to tweak Tunis's alarm systems. Teresa prepared the plan to rescue Thomas.

Thomas had thought the week would've been a time to rest, to reflect on his time at Tunis, to think about the plans to take down the Order, but it ended up being none of that. Instead, it was a time for Thomas to suffer from the terror that gnawed at his insides. Terrified of dying and of leaving his friends behind. Of leaving Teresa behind.

He tried his best to act confident. To reassure his friends, to reassure Teresa, that he'd survive. But he kept finding himself in the midst of a deep inner turmoil.

There were so many things that could go wrong with the plan. What if Drake found out about the Failsafe? What if he detected something suspicious about Thomas's behaviour, and decided to rollback all of Thomas's work? What if Harvey wasn't truly on their side?

He shrugged the thoughts off, reminding himself not to come up with excuses to save his own skin.

 _Why does it have to be you?_ Teresa had asked. _Why not Bennett?_

Thomas hated himself for feeling the slightest bit of temptation at the idea. But he knew it had to be him. Drake already had his doubts on the loyalty of Biocopies, and he would be suspicious to see Harvey's loyalty not being swayed by Bennett's presence.

And finally, it was the day. The day he would be marched to Tunis. They day he might die. The day the Order would be destroyed.

"Follow your gut, shuckface," Minho advised unhelpfully.

Thomas scoffed in response. "Following anybody's gut hasn't gotten any of us anywhere. My gut instinct upon entering the Glade was that you guys were my captors." _Turns out it was the other way around_ , he completed in his head.

"Stay alive, Tommy," Newt said quietly. "Don't bloody die."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, now I'm _bloody_ inspired."

Even Clipper looked close to tears. "Be safe," he said, his voice barely above a whimper. "I know it's silly, but … you came to replace Harvey for me. Aharon always boasted of how smart his daughter was, and that kinda made me respect you, too, before I even met you." He frowned. "Is that nepotist? Anyway …Harvey's back now, but he's going to die out there in Tunis and I can't lose you too."

Thomas was astounded to hear the boy comparing him to Harvey. "Okay," was all he managed, and he could hear the bafflement in his own voice. "I'll try not die."

Teresa snorted at that. Her face was hardened, and she was glaring at Thomas for no apparent reason. But the glare softened quickly, and a genuine smile of determination and confidence took over her features. "You'll live," she said plainly. "You might return with decapitated limbs and torn-apart eyelids, but I'll make sure you remain alive."

"Thanks for the pep-talk," Thomas muttered, slightly troubled by the image but smiling nonetheless. He squeezed Teresa's hand, hoping it wasn't the last time he would.

Teresa frowned, glancing at him from head to toe. Before Thomas knew what was happening, her fist flew upwards, smashing his nose, and her other hand yanked hard on his arm, dislocating his shoulder.

" _What the hell!_ " Thomas screeched, staggering backwards, one fist clenched at his side. Newt and Minho were restraining Teresa, looking as shocked as Thomas was.

"Sorry," Teresa muttered, grimacing as if the pain were her own. "If you're going to be taken prisoner to Tunis, Drake would expect you to be a little bruised."

Thomas cringed. "Harvey could've done it on the Berg. Now I'm gonna have to endure this throughout the whole Berg journey."

"We can fix you up and Harvey could do it again," Teresa teased, although her face was sympathetic. "You can suffer a little bit of pain."

Thomas groaned. "I've suffered enough pain to last me three lifetimes. Give me a break." For some reason, he was painfully reminded of the Betrayal Variable, and lost all urge to talk.

Luckily, he didn't have to: Harvey entered the hangar, waving Thomas over to signal that he'd finished his preparations. Thomas waved goodbye to his friends, before following Harvey into the Berg.

* * *

The ride was smooth and silent, and for some reason, that only served to increase Thomas's utter terror of what was to come. He was going to be in the Rally Hall in Capital Square, on the gallows. He'd been on the other side of the gallows many times now, and as horrible as that felt, Thomas felt guilty knowing being executed was going to be worse than executing someone else. Much worse.

The Berg's thrusters dimmed. "We're here," Harvey announced - rather needlessly, Thomas thought.

Thomas nodded in response and let Harvey tie him up and gag him. The man scraped a knife over much of Thomas's arm - presumably to be more convincing - and it made Thomas cry out in pain. He hoped, desperately, that Harvey could be trusted.

And then Thomas was being pulled out of the Berg. Harvey grunted with the effort, and if Thomas wasn't being dragged to the gallows, he might'vehelped him somehow. Thomas was quick to notice the travellators of Tunis that lied before them. A guard hopped down from the top, his jaw dropping as he stared at Thomas.

"Holy … " the guard breathed. "Is this whom I think it is? Stephen McVoy?"

"Yeah," Harvey said with feigned, or at least hopefully feigned, enthusiasm. "I was being held hostage by a Rebel team. Have spied quite a bit, right under his nose."

"Drake'll be very pleased to have ye back, son," the guard said, smiling coyly at Thomas. Thomas put up a show of moaning against his gag and struggling at his restraints. But it wasn't merely a show - he was, truly, terrified.

"True," Harvey chimed in. "I was afraid Drake would not trust me after such a long absence, so I thought I'd bring something … extra. And I struck gold, don't you think?

"That you did," the guard agreed, then smirked at Thomas. "Ey, ya fugitive. Let ma teach ye a lesson."

The guard swooped down on him, plucking Thomas up by the collar with seemingly no effort at all, before delivering two good punches to the face. Pain and suffocation battled for dominance in Thomas as the guard punched him over and over in the gut, the face, the ribs. Harvey stood at the side, a helpless expression on his face.

For some odd reason, Thomas felt only pain - no fear. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn't going to die. At least, not yet. Maybe it was because he knew the Order was going to lose big time.

He wanted to fight back. There wasn't much he could do - gagged and bound - but then the gag came off. Thomas swooped his head down onto the man's hands, then bit into it with every ounce of rage he'd own. The man released a horrible wail as Thomas's molars crushed the man's finger joints with ease.

Thomas immediately regretted it.

Not because he'd just decapitated a man's finger, or because the man was probably going to die, or because Thomas had tasted human flesh, but because at least a dozen guards were charging at him then.

Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously frustrated with Thomas's antics, then muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

And then a stronger gag was being tied around Thomas's mouth, followed by a blindfold, and then he was being tossed into the air like a plaything. Someone battered his jaw, then bit deep into his ear. Someone else gave him a hard kick in the ribs. A knee connected with his groin, and Thomas blacked out, the last words he heard being: _Hope you can't have kids anymore._


	42. Chapter 41

**Author's note:**

 **The last chapter didn't get recorded as an update (unless you're already following this story), which means it didn't appear on the archive page/update list, so please click the Prev button if you haven't read it yet.**

Thomas woke up standing, something cool, metallic around his neck. He gulped. Every bit of pain in his body had disappeared - his nether regions felt fine, too: the guard's wishes had probably not come true. Thomas actually glanced around himself to ensure he was in the same body; that he hadn't had a brain transplant. Drake was probably sick enough to make sure he'd be in perfect shape for the execution, although this time it seemed to have worked in his favour.

He absorbed his surroundings. He was in a drab wooden room, a metal noose around his throat. No - it wasn't a noose, but a somewhat thick metal ring or tube. He ran his hands - now unbound - over it to see that it went on for as far as his hands could reach. He could barely tilt his neck.

A door in front of him opened, and Thomas felt only the slightest bit of surprise when Drake himself walked in, a coy smile plastered across his face. He walked forward until they were face to face. The urge to kick the man in the shin was high, but Thomas managed to resist.

"Ah, Stephen," Drake said silkily after a long time, scratching the back of his hand with the fingernails of his other. A long pause ensued. "How little you understand."

"Understand what?" Thomas forced himself to ask.

Drake let out an airy chuckle, then paused again for an equally long length of time. "I have a vision, Stephen. A vision for this world. A world where people are loyal, obedient to authority. Did I ever tell you what Stream AIII was for?"

Stream AIII was the blank stream of Biocopies with no description. Clipper, Harvey … none of them had a clue as to what it was for. As far as Thomas knew, only Drake knew of it.

"No, I don't think I did. I told no one. Not even my closest associates. And here, I'm telling you, a fugitive, a traitor. Ah, the irony." Drake scratched his lower lip with a single finger.

Thomas recalled that Clipper had implanted a small spy-microphone into Thomas's ear; he could still feel its presence. He felt good knowing the boy was listening to everything Drake was saying.

"Stephen," Drake said, again in that same calm, silky voice. "Stream AIII will replace Stream BII."

It took a while before Thomas understood the meaning of the statement, and when he did, he gasped in shock. "You're going to replace all your citizens with Biocopies? You're going to replace the shuck human race with Biocopies? Put the human race at your loyalty." The last sentence came out as a sentence rather than a question.

"You're clever, Stephen," Drake said, clucking his tongue. "Very clever. And you are right. That is my vision for the human race. A race of people who are truly loyal. True patriots. The ideal citizens. Project Noi'tanimod, do you recall? The name of the project to which you devoted your resources? Noi'tanimod, Domination. Domination over the minds of all individuals."

"You're shucked in the head," was all Thomas could manage.

Drake let out another airy chuckle. "It's all about perspective, Stephen. From the perspective of me, the one in power, the one who holds responsibility, this is the right thing to do."

What was Drake trying to say? That he wasn't going to abuse his power? That he was confident he would use this for the greater good? Well, Thomas knew him better. He was going to use this power for himself and his … lineage. He knew this with certainty - as much certainty as he knew that the Earth went around the Sun … well, kinda.

"And you used to understand this," Drake continued. "I thought you would be a part of my plan. But you chose not to. But does it matter? Your work is with me now. You've done nearly everything I wanted of you. And I shall be presenting your work, along with your death. Tomorrow."

So Drake didn't have a clue about the Failsafe. Thomas wanted to rub his hands with glee.

"It's already happening, Stephen," Drake continued. "My vision is coming to fruition. Much of the Order has been replaced with permanently loyal soldiers. The best citizens. The sub-par ones have been … purged."

Again, Thomas wanted to burst out laughing from his excitement. Drake had no idea what was coming for him. This only helped their plan further.

"Now … " Drake said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get down to business. You have your spies, and I have mine."

Fear gripped Thomas once again, but he calmed himself down. The Rebels working undercover for Clipper weren't told anything significant about the attack - just to prepare themselves and mobilise when told to. The threat didn't mean anything as long as the spy wasn't among the top leadership of the Rebels - Clipper, Thomas, Teresa, Minho, Newt, Thomas's Biocopy, and … Harvey. The last name was the only one Thomas was afraid of.

"Some kind of a strike, an attack, isn't it?" Drake questioned. Again the creepily silky voice.

Thomas refused to answer, even if they had an agreed cover this time. If nothing else, to make it look more realistic when he bluffed.

Drake sighed. "Looks like we have to do this the hard way."

Before Thomas could process any of that, a surge of electricity rushed through his body, then simple, searing pain, reminding him of the times he'd been shot by a Launcher. Thomas trembled in the pain that seemed to originate around his neck, then spread to the rest of his body.

Thirty seconds passed.

Sixty.

Thomas stopped counting.

And then it stopped, like nothing had ever happened.

"Will you give me an answer now, boy?" Drake asked, and someone who hadn't seen Thomas writhing in pain would have thought it was a father reasoning with his son. He refused to answer - the pain from the electric shock wasn't all that bad.

Drake sighed again.

Thomas felt the metal loop heat up under his neck, at the back of it, all around his throat. The heat soon became scorching; Thomas felt something burn through his neck, burn his insides dry. He cried out in pain, then gasped for air, feeling helpless. Not for the first time, he wanted to kick Drake in the face.

And then the heat disappeared, although the throbbing pain remained, trying to eat at his skin around his throat. But the loop wasn't done with him. Now it turned cold. Icy, freezing cold, and Thomas shivered all over. The metal stung at the skin around his neck, as if trying to pull it off, tear it apart, lick and bite at it.

And then it went, only to be replaced with the heat.

Electricity.

Heat.

Cold.

Heat.

Electricity.

The torture continued, in a pattern that Thomas could have possibly grasped if he weren't in so much pain.

When it all stopped, Thomas had cried his throat hoarse, and his tear glands dry. The look on Drake's face would have looked almost sympathetic to someone who didn't know the man better.

"An attack on Riyadh," Thomas stammered out - it was their agreed cover, a bluff, and now it sounded completely realistic, he was sure of it. "During the National Day Parade. It's going to be huge. You won't be able to do a thing." It was a trick to divert the majority of Drake's forces to Riyadh, so the Rebels could finish off the Order in Tunis. Or maybe Drake would send only the Biocopies to Riyadh - they would be killed off by the alarm which would affect all Order facilities.

Drake burst out laughing like a crazy person - Thomas was sure the man had lost his marbles. Caught the Flare, perhaps. "Oh, Stephen, Stephen. You're so naïve. You worked on the Biocopies yourself. Do you really think I won't be able to fend off your puny Rebel teams?" He walked closer to Thomas, pulling him into a headlock. The old man's face was dead serious, making Thomas gulp. "I'm the most powerful man on Earth, Stephen."

Drake took a step back, then let his arms fly through the air. "I'm the most powerful man on Earth!" he bellowed, his arms and legs spread out like he were holding up a mountain on his hands - it looked ridiculous considering how frail the man really was. "I'm the most powerful man on Earth!"

And then Drake left the room, chuckling airily and slamming the door behind him.

 _He's officially lost it,_ Thomas thought.


	43. Chapter 42

**Author's note:**

 **:Guest[1] – Not telling yet : )**

Thomas had no idea what awaited him. Sure, he was possibly going to be executed, but was that all? Was there no further interrogation that awaited him?

Hours passed. The stench of stale, rotting urine entered the room from who-knew-where? Flies buzzed around him. His throat went more and more parched. Thomas's legs grew weaker, and his body stiff. Pain throbbed around his neck like a collar. That _was_ what was around it, after all. A collar that could inflict suffering onto him anytime it wanted. He moved his arms around - mostly to swat flies that flew near his mouth - he'd given up on the rest of his face and body.

When urine came, he held it for as long as he could and tried his best to launch it as far as he could, but it wouldn't reach beyond a few feet. It was probably the least horrid part, though - he was actually able to entertain himself that way. By peeing. He was glad he'd been born male. Otherwise even that last source of entertainment would've been lost.

Nevertheless, it felt horrible. Thomas had never known lack of movement could feel so horrible. Right then, he'd give a month to ten more rounds of the Changing to get out of this mess. He didn't know how he would have fared if they hadn't patched him after getting beaten up by Order guards. How he wanted to bite off every Order member's fingers just like he'd done to that one.

Exhausted, he hung his head down to relax his neck. Drool pooled and dripped down from his lips, and Thomas forgot all about hygiene whatsoever. Tired, sore, and lips curled in to prevent contact with flies, Thomas fell asleep. A few minutes, perhaps.

Of course, his lips were uncurled when he woke up. Trying not to think about how many flies would have transferred their germs to them, he tried his best to crane his neck and look around. Nothing had changed.

Sleep kept coming in fits, and seemed to tire him even further, but it was still the only way to escape the torture - by falling unconscious. Thomas tried to punch himself hard enough to knock himself unconscious and keep himself that way, but it never worked. Sleep was his only escape.

Finally, after what Thomas thought of as an eternity, the metal loop opened beneath his neck, and Thomas let himself crumple to the ground as his knees buckled under him. Saliva dripped down the edges of his lips. He had no idea what awaited him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Nevertheless, his heart raced.

Hunger.

With all the other, much worse things around him, he'd hardly paid any heed to it. But now it growled within him.

He crawled to a corner of the room to relieve himself ever so slightly of the smell of urine. He laid his back down again, not finding in himself to care that he was sleeping on the floor of a possibly very dirty place.

He hated Drake. He hated the stupid Order. He hated everything that had caused him to be in this situation.

Oh, the pain. The horrible, searing pain through the edges of his neck. Blood continued to seep down. He surprised himself by wondering if it would leave a scar.

The door opened. Thomas didn't bother looking up until he heard footsteps into the room. Slowly, getting his hands and knees under him, he looked ahead to greet his new visitor. It was Harvey.

Thomas felt an inexplicable, irrational, unjustifiable yet incredibly strong urge to say something snide or passive-aggressive, but one look at the man's face stopped him from doing so. It was full of genuine pity.

"Get up," Harvey urged softly, and Thomas did.

Harvey stashed something in Thomas's hand - it was a granola bar. He didn't even bother to read any ingredients or analyse it - he simply ripped the cover off and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, relishing its taste as it filled him with much-needed nutrients. He didn't even bother asking about how Harvey would have Drake's trust if he did this - Harvey had to have taken care of this.

"The surveillance in this room is analysed 24 hours later," Harvey explained, answering those very thoughts. He gave Thomas something else - a large bottle of water and two syringes of some kind. Thomas wolfed down the water immediately.

"Epinephrene," Harvey said, and for a moment Thomas panicked because he thought he was referring to the water - of course, he had to be referring to the syringes. "You never know when it will be useful."

Thomas didn't know what exactly Harvey had in mind, but understood anyway and nodded. "Why're you helping me?" he asked - not in a passive-aggressive way: he was genuinely curious. "Why take all the risk?"

Harvey shook his head. "Risk? There's no risk. I'm going to die anyway when the Failsafe plays, and I'll do it gladly. Even if they do find out about me, there's nothing the Order can do now. Drake will be calling you up in a couple of minutes."

Thomas felt a pang of pain at the thought of Harvey dying. "I'm sorry there's no other way," he said. "I really wished you could have lived. Clipper would hate to see you dead." He wished he'd done something else with the Failsafe, perhaps make the Biocopies lose their loyalty to Drake instead of just die. But this was the sneakiest thing he could do. Plus, having tons of identical people was often a bad idea.

Harvey shook his head again. "I'm bogged down by enough guilt already. I'd die a happy guy knowing I made up for my mistakes."

Thomas sighed, his thoughts going to Minho - well, maybe that wasn't so bad, considering that he'd never actually _done_ anything for Drake. Minho and Thomas's Biocopy wouldn't die, of course, since they had the Swipe removed.

Harvey took the wrapper and water bottle. "I wish I could do something for your wounds as well. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Thomas said, somehow managing to smile despite the pain that continued to gnaw at his skin. "You've done enough. Thank you."

Harvey nodded, half-smiling, and walked off, closing the door behind him. Despite everything, Thomas felt exuberated with his hunger and thirst gone. He felt like he could run ten miles now without panting.

A smile tugged onto Thomas's lips as he recalled that today would be the day the Order would perish.


	44. Chapter 43

Guards came to collect him only a few minutes after Harvey was gone. Thomas didn't resist as he was dragged through hallways and through turns, towards the Rally Hall.

The guards were so different from the ones who greeted him at the travellators. They talked about things so mundane. Stuff that showed there really were real human beings under the black suits with the Draconian emblem. One of them had an orphaned nephew at home, down with a fever. Another had been assigned to marry a girl he liked, the feeling not mutual. Another's wife was pregnant, and he was working hard to get a few days off to spend time with her.

Thomas couldn't help but feel bad for them all. Feel terrible, really.

But what had to be done, had to be done.

A door opened before them. "We're here," a guard announced, his voice sounding like he didn't want to be doing this.

"Thanks for the ride," Thomas said, snorting, as he was lead to the gallows. The crowd surrounding them was silent as guards tied him to the wooden plank. No cheers.

Harvey stood before him solemnly. Thomas was surprised, but he understood - now that Drake was unveiling the Biocopies, he probably didn't mind a Biocopy doing the executions just like any other person - fugitives got executed by the person who caught them. Thomas called Teresa telepathically, as had been part of the plan. There was no acknowledgement, but that only meant Teresa was busy working out the plan than responding to him, which would serve little purpose.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Drake announced, a vicious, snake-like smile spread across his face. "This is Stephen McVoy. The man who sold our secrets to Israel. The traitor. The enemy. And today–"

 _Crack._ A crack resounded through Tunis, originating from somewhere in the Roof, cutting Drake off. Murmurs broke out through the crowd, Order employees and civilians started staring up at the Roof, fear and bafflement spreading through the crowd in waves. The ropes around Thomas's body fell loose, Thomas turned his head around to see Harvey cutting them apart, then winking at Thomas.

"The alarm!" Drake bellowed. "Why isn't it ringing!"

As if in response to the statement, a resounding boom sounded through every speaker in Tunis, followed by Clipper's voice.

"My name is Bennett Turner Israeli. I've been called many names by Drake and his Order. Fugitive. Traitor. Enemy. But all I do is fight for freedom, and save the world from chaos and Drake's domination. Because freedom does not exist under the rule of Drake Spinoza."

"Cut the transmission!" Drake yelled.

 _Quick, Clipper,_ Thomas thought. _Play the damn Failsafe._

Images of Drake flashed from every dual AV device in Tunis, and across the roof of the city.

"This is Drake Spinoza," Clipper announced. "People under his regime have no freedom, to express their thoughts, to elect their own leader, to trade freely, to work in a field they wish to, to gain an uncensored and meaningful education, to leave the nation, to marry whom they want."

More images flashed across the Roof. People being tortured, executed, murdered as Drake laughed - for the pettiest of crimes. Harvey was among them, as were the people whom Thomas had executed with his own hands.

"There is no such thing as privacy, everything they say or do is recorded by an elaborate system of two-way Audio-Visual devices."

Images representing the spying activities.

"A web of propaganda, censorship of the truth and of the Netblock. Say that Israel was destroyed in the Solar Flares, and you get executed."

A clip of Thomas saying the same words during his escape from Tunis, then Drake ordering his execution. Thomas had no clue how the kid had gotten his hands on the clip.

"Say it with me!" Clipper yelled. "Israel was destroyed in the Solar Flares!" A few isolated shouts resounded through the auditorium. "Israel was destroyed in the Solar Flares!" It was louder this time. "Israel was destroyed in the Solar Flares!" Clipper kept shouting the same thing, and the crowd kept getting louder and louder.

"Israel never waged a war against us in the past three hundred years of its existence!" The crowd shouted with Clipper as images showing data, proof from NetBlock articles populated the Roof.

"Cut the transmission!" Drake shrieked. "Cut the transmission, _now_!"

"What're you going to do, Drake? Shoot me? Burn me? Burn anyone who dares raise their voice against you and your crap?"

Another clip flashed across the screen - that of a five-year old girl wailing as she was burnt to death.

"This is Mary Phoenix. She was burnt to death because her father forged water rationing cards to quench the thirst of those with larger families."

Several more images flashed across the Roof. Children crying as their parents were executed. People having their eyeballs gauged out for Drake's entertainment.

"It's jammed, Sir!" someone yelled, obviously referring to the transmission. Thomas just wanted Clipper to play the Failsafe and be done with it.

"Are the dual AV systems necessary for _security reasons,_ Drake? Then what's this!" Images of Drake's residence flashed across Tunis. There were no dual AV systems present. "Are you so noble you don't care for your security? Or maybe you just don't want any interference when you spend your time raping innocent kids?"

Clipper had the decency not to post any video feed for the last comment.

"Is there a _water shortage_ in Tunisia, Drake? Then what's this?"

Again images of Drake's residence, huge swimming pools, luxurious fountains and faux waterfalls.

"What are _these_ , Drake? What _are_ these?"

Desalination plants, groundwater tapping facilities.

"Drake has created a web of lies to make you feel that you need him. But today, let's make our stand against Drake! Let's sever our ties with the Order! Who's with me?"

At first, nobody rose from their places. And then Thomas heard the screech of a wooden chair being dragged across concrete flooring. A young boy rose to his feet, close to the arena.

Not surprising Thomas to the least, but horrifying him nonetheless, Drake ordered: "Execute him!"

Nothing.

"Doesn't anybody have a good shot?" Drake screeched, any attempt at maintaining calmness or a silky voice now gone. "Damn it, does _nobody_ have good shot? Forget about good shots, just shoot him!"

A man and a woman tried pulling the boy down, but the boy wiggled free of their grasp, then ran into the nearby stairway. Executing children was nothing new for the Order, but now … now people were rising against their tyrannical government.

A shot was fired.

The kid crumpled to the ground.

And then all hell broke loose.


	45. Chapter 44

Drake watched, his face pale in horror, as Order employees revealed themselves as Rebel spies and began shooting at their companions. It took a while for the Order to understand what was going on, and by that time, the Order forces present there had been decimated. But the real war would begin once the Biocopies were killed. If only Clipper could make it a little quicker …

Thomas couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that he no longer felt such any strong emotion at seeing the kid die.

Harvey untethered him, and Thomas pushed the thought off his mind, taking the opportunity to escape and survive. He plugged one of Harvey's epinephrine syringes into his thigh, then ran forward and lunged at Drake from the back. This was his best chance to survive - no Order guard would dare take a shot with the risk of killing Drake. They probably wouldn't even dare tasering him with a Launcher.

The wrestle was a fake wrestle on Thomas's part - he deliberately wrestled weakly so they could keep rolling about in the ground, preventing Thomas from getting shot. Drake was his protection.

"Don't fire!" Drake yelled desperately. Thomas grinned inwardly.

More images flashed across the Roof. Drake's sons. Clipper spoke. "This, here, is Drake's secret _lineage_. Drake kidnapped thousands of women from across the globe and impregnated them with his own sperm, then mated their sons with their own aunts, sisters, mothers."

The images changed. Now the images were those of people filling the streets of Tunis - many looked identical. They were looking around and talking frantically. The Biocopies.

"And now, unveil, the Tunisian Task Force Zero! Also known as … the Biocopies! They were obtained by tormenting teenagers by wiping their memories putting them in a Maze with frightening monsters, then marching them hundreds of miles through the Scorch, battling Cranks and more monsters, tormenting them emotionally and psychologically, putting them through horrifying simulations, in isolated environments, and the list goes on and on. A chip in their brains forces them to be loyal to Drake. These Biocopies would help Drake achieve exactly what he always wanted - an army of loyalists who would run around the world like psychos, exploiting every natural resource on Earth to support Drake and his precious lineage."

 _The Failsafe, Clipper. Please._

"But for how long?" Clipper questioned, then took on a tone of achievement and victory. "My friends and allies, Steven McVoy and Harvey Maldoon have been working undercover, to stop Drake. Along with plenty other members in the Order whom I salute. And today's the day their efforts will yield fruition."

The Failsafe started playing, sending a rush of relief through Thomas as he continued to wrestle with Drake. Thomas couldn't help but appreciate the almost divine sound of the Failsafe. Despite the chaos, a few voices could be heard clearly above it all.

"What is that?"

"Is that … music?"

"It's beautiful."

"Will we get more of this if we kill Drake for you?"

The Biocopies crumbled to the ground. Harvey fell, dead. "I'm so sorry, Harvey," Thomas whispered, feeling a sharp pain in his chest as he did so.

He turned his attention to Drake. "Roll over and die, Drake!"

And Drake did. Drake's eyes rolled back into his head like all the other Biocopies, then let out one last breath.

 **Author's note:**

 **There are still about eight chapters left.  
**


	46. Chapter 45

**Author's note:**

 **You'll all have your answers, soon.**

Thomas realised he felt no surprise at all. He'd suspected this many a time - why would the real Drake risk his life out here in the open? Had Thomas even _seen_ the real Drake? Was the real Drake even alive? How could they kill him?

Thomas continued to faux-wrestle with the corpse of Drake's Biocopy, as hard as that was. There was one thing he was sure of: Drake would never have revealed this secret to anyone. Not even his sons. Perhaps not even another Biocopy. Hoping that nobody noticed Drake was dead, Thomas continued to punch him and roll around on the ground.

Thomas heard the sound of feet hitting ground. He looked up from his battle, shocked at what he saw. Order soldiers were running towards him. Of course. They couldn't shoot from a distance, but that couldn't mean they couldn't kill him or pull him off Drake.

Before Thomas could do anything, a rush of gunshots were heard, burning pellets ripped through the air, and the Order soldiers on his tail collapsed to the ground. Thomas looked up to see Teresa, shooting fiery pellets with incredible accuracy, standing on a hanging platform of metal fibres through a hole she'd somehow made in the Roof. She was armed to the teeth, yet Thomas couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked. He brushed the thought away. How ridiculous and inappropriate was that when he was almost on the gallows?

And then Johannes came in Thomas's field of vision - Drake's eldest son. He raised his rifle, pointed it towards Teresa and fired, as Thomas felt a strangled cry form in his throat, shocked at the scene that was unfolding before him.

The bullet missed Teresa by a huge margin, and Thomas let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Instead, the bullet ripped at the upper portion of the metal fibre, causing a huge chunk of it to come falling down, obstructing Teresa's path. There was no way Teresa could fire her weapon without burning herself in that metal fibre.

Fortunately, Teresa seemed to understand that, because she was now ferociously ripping and tearing at the metal fibre with her dagger, trying to break her way through. Thomas realised Johannes had probably done it on purpose - it was next to impossible to shoot Teresa with the kind of armour she was wearing.

Johannes was approaching him now, his rifle raised, only a dozen or so feet away. Thomas knew the man - he wouldn't be afraid to kill Drake; he'd gladly do it, take the throne for himself quicker.

Thomas did the only thing he could do. He let go of the corpse and sprinted towards Johannes. As the man's fingers reached for the trigger, Thomas pulled to a stop before him, then grabbed the barrel of the rifle, and tried to wriggle it out of Johannes's grasp. Even as he did so, he felt a sharp sting somewhere in his shoulder, perhaps from the effort.

Thomas was about to admit that there was no chance of fighting this man, that he had to run or leave him to Teresa's shooting once she broke out of the metal fibres, when the rifle snapped into two.

Johannes stared at his weapon in shock, unmoving. Thomas acted quickly. He let go of the rifle, then let his fist fling upwards, connecting with the man's jaw. Johannes didn't even shed an ounce of blood, and Thomas realised he didn't stand a chance against this guy.

But Johannes didn't fight back, so Thomas punched him in the abdomen, before grabbing him by shoulders and launching himself upwards, letting his knee connect with Johannes's guts.

Johannes grabbed Thomas by the shanks, then flung him away, seemingly effortlessly. Thomas's backside took the impact of the collision, and he scrambled away, trying to get away from Johannes. But then Thomas felt something metallic under his palm. A knife.

He grabbed it and got his legs under him. Johannes charged at him, hands held out and eyes on the knife, and Thomas was obviously not stupid enough to try and stab him, risking the possibility of Johannes getting the advantage of a knife. Instead, he dodged, sending Johannes rushing past him. Drake's eldest son caught his balance, but Thomas swung his arm into his back, relishing at the sound of metal ripping through cloth and skin and flesh and bone.

Johannes let out an unearthly, horrifying scream, then collapsed to the ground.

The mighty Johannes let out one last breath.

The sound of footsteps caught Thomas's attention. A new Order team was charging towards him - their number couldn't be more than a dozen, but it was enough to finish him off.

Thomas darted towards the wooden plank in hope for cover. The Order team raised their rifles. Thomas's step faltered. He was going to die. He was really going to die. Going to leave everyone behind, leave Teresa behind.

And then a thunderous explosion ripped through the air, rocking Thomas off his feet and sending him rolling away from the source of it. He opened his eyes that he hadn't known he had closed, only to see that the Order team had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but their rifles.

Newt had broken his way through the metal fibres, a Bombvice Launcher gripped in his hands.

"So that's what it bloody does!" he mused. "Cool!"

Teresa emerged beside him in one last tear at the metal fabric. A third figure emerged from Newt's tunnel and slapped the boy across the head, whispering something to him. It was Minho.

His friends were fine. They were all fine.

Thomas rose to his feet, only now realising that Clipper's announcements were still going on.

"The Drake you've seen in public was nothing but a Biocopy himself," Clipper announced. An image of the Biocopy's dead body flashed onto the screen. Thomas had no clue how the boy had done that. Could the transmission be updated remotely?

"Thomas!" Thomas spun around at his name being called. It was Minho, sprinting towards him. "Catch!"

Minho threw a long, slender rifle at him - it only flew a metre or two, and Thomas had to sprint and lunge forward himself to catch it.

"What about–" Thomas started, but was cut off, and his question was answered once he saw Newt and Teresa jumping down into the battle, lowering themselves with a rope. The Order's Maze subjects joined them, pouring into the battlefield below. Clipper was between them.

Clipper's voice continued to sound. "These are the teenagers whom Drake put through gruesome, horrid Trials to protect his own authority. Who've had their families, their childhoods, their freaking memories torn away from them. Let today be the day they'll fight back. Avenge."

 _Not the most inspiring choice of words_ , Thomas thought, but it was probably fine when your purpose was to incite a nation against its tyrannical government.

Someone tapped Thomas on the shoulder - it was Teresa.

"We need to find the real Drake, kill him, then finish off the rest of his lineage," Teresa whispered, urgency lacing her voice. She handed him something that looked like a piece of armour from the medieval times - the same thing they were all wearing. "The Order will shut down once there are no people to give the orders. And then we need to calm the mob down, let Clipper manage this place, crush Riyadh, and get the hell out of here."

Thomas couldn't have agreed more. He was more than eager to go back home.

He quickly pulled on the armour, letting only his face be seen through the thick glass with two airholes. He squeezed Teresa's hand, despite the fact that two layers of metal separated their skins. Teresa scowled at him, muttering something about being a sap. Of course she would.

Clipper lead the way, down hallways and stairways into the depths of Capital Square. Thomas himself hadn't been told about Drake's descendants - of course Drake probably knewthat Thomas already knew about them, since his Biocopy would have told him.

"There's going to be a … ton of security around the … building … " Clipper said between heavy breaths. "We've gotta–"

A sound of something exploding reverberated through the air, knocking some of the Rebels off their feet. Thomas himself spun around a full one-eighty degrees, only to realise they were now cornered into the wall by a huge number of Order forces.

But they weren't holding conventional weapons. They were holding knives and spears and bows, but know firearms. Thomas didn't need to be told that all weaponry had been disabled. Or that Thomas didn't have the time to recode their arms manager. He could understand why they'd done that, of course - The Rebels had blown up the entire military reserve chambers.

And now, the Rebels weren't the ones with the weapons.

Some Order employees began shouting something that were probably profanities in another language, and then the teams began charging forward, weapons drawn for the fighting, towards the Rebels.

Before Thomas could react, Clipper was running forward, out of the crowd of Rebels, towards the Order. Thomas screamed at him to stop, but he continued running. The boy held something in his fingers - a glint of bright red. Clipper reached the frontline of the Rebel crowd, then held up the glowing splint - it was within a slingshot of some kind - and launched it at the Order forces.

A man burst into flames, and then it spread like wildfire - no, it _was_ a wildfire.

Order soldiers collapsed onto the ground in a burning heap, some ran away, some just stood there screaming. But they were mostly out of commission. Teresa urged the armour-coated Rebels to run through the fire, and they did. Holding his breath, Thomas dived in between the flames, through the horrendous heat, and out into the open part of the hallway.

Something felt wrong in his head. A sharp pain, as if unintentionally communicated telepathically.

Teresa.

 **Author's note:**

 **I don't really have too much experience in wrestling with corpses, so sorry if I got those details wrong.**


	47. Chapter 46

**Author's note:**

 **:fadingshadows – Sorry, forgot to respond earlier. I thought Chapter 42 would be enough : )**

Thomas shouted Teresa's name: a whimper sounded from within the flames. He didn't hesitate - he dived back into the flames, ignoring the sweltering heat and putting his mind on only one thing: finding Teresa, and getting her out, alive.

Something tugged at his ankle - metallic; it was a hand, Teresa's hand. Thomas reached down and grabbed it, pulling Teresa upwards, then dragging her out of the flames.

The glass of her helmet had ruptured and a flame was burning at the base of her cheek. Another plume of smoke was billowing out of the left side of her hip.

Thomas wasted no time. He ripped off Teresa's helmet, then his own gloves, brushing and blowing at the flame on her face. He pulled off the latch of her armour near her hip - slightly relieved when he found it was only the armour that was on fire. He swatted it, letting the flame die out, then shut the latch tight.

Teresa whimpered slightly, pushing herself up straight with her right hand. Her cheek was bloody and charred, but it was probably not too deep that she'd need immediate medical attention.

"Is it bad?" she whispered, wincing as she did so.

"Yeah," Thomas admitted, knowing she'd want him to be honest, "But you'll survive." He quickly pecked a kiss at the burnt area of her cheek, hoping it would make her feel at least slightly better and not finding it in himself to care who was looking. It tasted of blood and ash. Teresa rolled her eyes at him.

Sighing, Thomas helped her to her feet and pulled her forward. The Rebels ran on, and Thomas felt terrible for Teresa, wishing she could get a break from all this. But one look at face washed the feeling away. Determination was written all over her face and posture, and fire burned in her eyes - luckily it was only figurative this time.

It gave Thomas a sudden burst of courage, and Teresa's emotions mirrored onto himself.

He kept running, putting his trust on Clipper for the directions.

But then Clipper yelled at them to stop.

"Wait!" the boy shouted, breathing heavily. "We're a bunch of idiots to think we can fight our way through like this. We need weapons."

"Weapons?" someone repeated - it was Minho, his voice laced with annoyance as if he just wanted to go home.

Clipper nodded. "Come on. Not all of them are gonna be burnt."

Thomas couldn't believe he hadn't thought about that. He simply turned around, running back with the Rebels, this time without anyone leading them.

Somehow, the fire had died down. No - not somehow. Order employees were present extinguishing the fire with a truckload of water. So much for saying Tunis had a water shortage. They obviously wanted the weapons too.

None of the Rebels hesitated. As soon as the hoses were lowered and the Order employees began racing towards the carnage - or what mattered: weapons, the Rebels ran into the scene and began to stash weapons in their hands, their pockets and their pants.

Before Thomas could touch a single weapon, something pounced - or fell - on his back. Letting out an enraged cry, Thomas threw himself back up, launching the attacker at least five feet backwards. He had a fist ready at his side to smash her face in, when his attacker looked up at him with terrified eyes. To his horror, he realised it was Teresa.

He quickly let go of her, and realising there was no time for apologies, he started grabbing at every weapon he could find.

Someone hit his back again. Convinced that it had to be an Order employee this time, and deciding he was better safe than sorry, he tackled the attacker to the floor and held out his knife. His attacker grabbed his wrist and struggled free from his grasp, then yelled: "You idiot!"

It was Teresa again.

 _Great._ Thomas actually did apologise this time. The Rebels, now equipped with weapons, slashed and stabbed and tore at any Order employee who was stupid enough to come their way. Soon enough, the entire Order team was running away. The Rebels took off again.

"You're a shuck idiot, Tom," Teresa snapped, glaring at him fiercely. "You must really want me dead."

Thomas scoffed. "You're the one talking. You're the one who dreamed of shooting me in an interrogation room."

Nevertheless, Thomas could understand her anger. Nothing like being attacked twice by your best friend, being mistaken for an enemy.

"I was saving _your_ butt the second time," Teresa added. "Literally. No Order employee would pounce on you. He was going to stab you right from behind you. You're welcome."

Guilt washed over Thomas, and Teresa rolled her eyes, obviously noticing his reaction.

The Order guards were letting them pass now, dropping their weapons in surrender. They all obviously realised the odds were not in their favour. Many probably even _wanted_ their side to lose. Thomas suddenly recalled Emmy, the guard who had apparently been a friend of his grandmother's. Thomas felt a burst of courage and enthusiasm, to finish off the Order, to make all their sacrifices actually mean something. He ran forward, his spirits high.

He should've known that would be when everything would go wrong.

Screams sounded from the front of the group. Horrifying wails like nothing Thomas had ever heard before. And then each one of them was cut off with a quick gurgling groan. People stopped moving, stayed frozen to the ground. Thomas only felt his step falter, but Teresa grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards.

"Something's wrong," Thomas whispered dumbly.

Horror engulfed him when more screams were heard. Black, charred bodies rolled down the stairway, like some kind of a supervillain had entered the scene. Shivers ran down Thomas's spine, shocked at what was happening, and terrified to think about that happening to anyone Thomas knew.

People started scrambling backwards, away from the stairway, when a figure - an old, white-bearded man - swooped down by a rope, two swords gripped in his hands. One was long, slender, and glowing, while the other just a very wide sword. The man was slashing and ripping at everyone who dared come his way. The glowing sword had needles lined on its edges.

The slender sword ripped across a girl's face. A black spot formed on her skin at the site of contact, then almost immediately spread across her skin and body, engulfing it in whole, moistening it and letting it crumble through the armour like a mess of wet, grey charcoal. A boy ran towards her body - or what used to be her body - screaming and crying hysterically, only to meet the same fate as her and crumble into a heap of dark grey mush beside her.

Thomas stood, helpless, with no clue what they could do to stop this guy.

Someone tugged on his arm - it was Teresa - but it was too late.

With a rather acrobatic gesture, he leapt up, like Thomas's heart, and swooped down on Thomas. The slender sword came down, towards Thomas, in slow motion.

Thomas was barely aware of his surroundings as Teresa let out a shriek he hadn't known her to be capable of, the sword ripped through his armour and into the skin of his forearm.

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Teresa let out another shriek. Sobs sounded. Thomas closed his eyes and waited for death to overcome him, feeling a deep surge of guilt for leaving them all.

He waited.

Teresa gasped from behind him. She was okay. Why wasn't she moving away?

Thomas opened his eyes.

Teresa was staring at Thomas's forearm. Instead of a black gash, all that remained was a crimson red scar.

The old man studied Thomas's face, then an expression of surprise formed on his own, before saying something in a shaky voice - Thomas couldn't find it in himself to care what he'd just said.

Thomas was still alive.


	48. Chapter 47

**Author's note:**

 **:Guest[1] – You'll find out eventually : )**

 **Things are going to get ridiculously weird this chapter.**

 **Any guesses for why the sword doesn't harm Thomas?**

 _Tom, get away,_ Teresa said in his skull.

 _No, you get away,_ Thomas replied, every bit of surprise, relief, or curiosity within him replaced by sheer courage. _You saw what happened. The stupid sword doesn't kill me._ Just seconds away, he'd been awaiting his death. Now, all he wanted was for Teresa to get away right then, then they could get rid of this old man and bid the Order goodbye for good.

The footsteps of shoes hitting ground told him that at least his first wish had been granted. That Teresa wasn't stupid enough to get killed, that she understood Thomas was right on this.

Oldman reared back with his slender sword, Thomas with his. There was no smile or thrill on the man's face like Thomas had expected from such a supervillain - it was almost like he didn't want to be here. Thomas swooped forward with his sword, keeping one hand free to try and grab the old man's slender sword.

Oldman held out the thick sword that he seemed to use as a shield, blocking him from Thomas's sword. He brought out his slender sword, and Thomas dodged, his stomach barely missing the blow. Thomas swiped at Oldman's wrist with his sword, but his other sword was there almost instantly, blocking Thomas's sword.

Thomas twisted out of the swordlock, then ducked, trying to attack the man in the groin, but Oldman had shield-sword protecting him there immediately.

Thomas scrambled backwards, his sword out and pointed towards Oldman and his other arm tense, prepared to catch the sword at any opportunity that presented itself. Oldman leapt forward, swiping his sword at Thomas's gut, but Thomas simultaneously ducked and held out his sword, then twisting to enter another swordlock.

"We don't have to do this," Thomas said, trying to sound as dangerous as he could. "You have some nice swordfighting skills. You could have a nice life in our army back at Paradise."

Obviously, Oldman didn't relent. Instead, he let out an exaggerated sigh, then said: "I don't want to do this either."

Before Thomas could process that, someone released an arrow from behind Oldman. Oldman sent his other arm flying backwards, his gaze not leaving Thomas, then connecting his shield with the arrow, and seemingly defying every known law of physics, sent it flying right back at the shooter, stabbing him in the left side of the chest.

Thomas was horrified. There was no way he could win a swordfight against this guy. Or even survive. With all that armour, he'd have to stab the guy in the face - Thomas was sure he wasn't skilled enough to rip the armour apart at the joints.

Nevertheless, Thomas pushed forward, twisting his way out of the swordlock and elbowing him backward.

Oldman had his shield up immediately, but nevertheless, Thomas had made actual physical contact. That was an achievement, considering how strong and skilled this guy was. Oldman's sword kept ripping through Thomas's skin, but Thomas ignored the pain and kept fighting. He just had to hold this guy off until Teresa or someone could recode their weapons to work again. Which was a long time, but nevertheless.

The two continued to fight, slashing and swiping at anything they could. Arrows flew at first, but quickly stopped once Oldman killed all the shooters dead.

Hopelessness pervade through Thomas, as much as he tried to hold it off.

Why did people work for such a horrible cause?

There was no way Thomas could win this fight. Not with this man so skilled and alert.

Alert …

An idea struck Thomas.

"Gas us!" Thomas cried. "Gas us unconscious!"

Oldman's eyes widened at the statement, and he suddenly began fighting more ferociously as if hoping to finish Thomas off before they got gassed. Thomas kept dodging, rendered completely unable to deliver an attack. His gashes grew to three times the original number, and some became deeper. He ended up having to run away from Oldman, as if playing catch.

And then when Thomas was a good thirty feet from Oldman, Teresa appeared in his corner of vision, a small grenade of some kind gripped firmly in her hand. With one swift flick of her wrist, the grenade windmilled through the air, towards Oldman. Oldman held out his shielding sword, again without looking back, and let it smack the grenade.

The little explosive did hurl backwards, but before it did so, it burst into a spectacular explosion of white fumes, engulfing Oldman. Oldman coughed, held his breath, but eventually gave in and sucked in a huge gulp of the fumes. The alertness in his eyes dimmed. His movements slowed. He was fighting like a human now.

Thomas charged forward, then grabbed Oldman's attacking sword with his free hand. Oldman's shield clattered to the ground at the mere jolt of the action - something Thomas would have thought to be completely impossible just moments earlier.

Thomas pulled the slender sword out of Oldman's hand, then reared back with his own sword, ready to plunge it into Oldman's torso, when Oldman did a most unexpected thing.

Oldman fell to his feet, begging for forgiveness.


	49. Chapter 48

Thomas resisted the urge to kick Oldman in the face. Instead, he asked, in a perfectly calm and controlled voice: "What the shuck?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Clipper speaking into his phone that was connected to the alarm system. "Drake's greatest warrior lies defeated."

Oldman let out an incoherent mumble at Thomas's feet.

"I'm so sorry," Oldman said, getting to his feet. "I was just keeping my ancestors' promises to Drake. I don't … " He paused, then said: "Clarence." He put out his hand as if expecting Thomas to shake it.

Just when Thomas had thought things couldn't get any weirder. He refused to shake this murderer's hand.

"Time to redeem yourself, then," Clipper said, stepping forward. "Where's Drake?" Thomas wondered how this kid could be so sly and so trusting at the same time.

"He's leaving Tunis," Clarence replied. "I was sent to hold you off. By now, he's probably taken off already."

"You're gonna lead us to him," Clipper ordered. "One wrong move and you'll have your privates thrown in the grinder."

Thomas would have chuckled in any other situation, but it seemed completely inappropriate considering how many people had died, how many people had lost their friends. He looked around himself. Lisa was crying over a body that probably belonged to Joseph, judging by the approximate build. Heistberger was fallen in the largest of the heaps. Death was all around them.

"He's killed our friends!" someone yelled from the crowd. "How can we let him go?"

Thomas had been struck by Clarence's sword, too. Why was it that Thomas had deserved to live, and the rest of them hadn't? _How_ had he survived? He had to get answers, and for that, Clarence had to be kept alive, if only for a while. More importantly, if Drake was really escaping, and Clarence really regretted his actions, the Rebels needed him.

"Swordsman lives for now," Thomas announced. "Get us to Drake or you'll live the rest of your life in pain and misery. Do anything stupid I'll forget all my humanity and personally torture you for the rest of eternity."

Clarence nodded, guilt and shame written all over his face, then pointed in the direction of the Elevator. "He's probably gone by now, but we can try."

* * *

Even as they sprinted towards the Elevator, Thomas was afraid that they were being lead to their deaths, that Clarence was leading them into a trap.

Clipper seemed to sense his worries. "I've checked … our camera … feeds," he said between impossibly heavy breaths, his voice straining with exhaustion. "The Roof is clear."

Thomas nodded, even though the lingering doubt didn't vanish. The camera feeds could be faking the video, for all they knew.

Thomas saw nothing when they emerged at the Roof. Obviously, Drake had decided against taking off so close to a place Tunis citizens could emerge from and hurt him. Something cast a shadow over them. A Berg. And it was flying over them.

"We need to bring their entire bloody Berg down!" Newt shouted. "Use all your arrows and all your fuel!"

Blazing, fiery arrows were soon being shot at the Berg. The machine was rising higher and higher, up into the sky, and shooting the right spot was becoming more and more difficult.

An arrow hit the Berg's tiny fans, and the fire disappeared immediately - sucked into the Berg. A thunderous boom sounded from somewhere deep within the flying machine, and streaks of fire ripped through its edges as it split the Berg apart like a banana being peeled.

Something fell from the Berg, and a parachute inflated.

"Drake!" Clipper shouted, holding up his binoculars. "It's him, in the parachute!"

A huge explosion sounded from somewhere further down the area, announcing that the Berg had crashed. Arrows were fired at Drake, and the man's parachute was soon ablaze, but it was too late. Drake grabbed something out of Thomas's field of view, and abandoned the parachute and started climbing down.

Thomas took off running, instructing the rest of the Rebels to stay. He was going to get to do it. He was going to kill Drake _himself_. Revenge for everything Thomas had to do for the psychopath. Everything in Thomas snapped. Every moral, every shred of self-control, every bit of restraint snapped in him, and only the desire for revenge pumped in his veins.

He was going to find Drake, and kill him. That was all that mattered right then.

As he ran towards the building he'd seen Drake hook on to, Thomas noticed a blood trail. An arrow must have nicked the Tunisian monarch in the leg. He ran along the blood trail, only his heels pushing off the ground as he ran faster and faster, his strides growing even longer and more frequent.

At the third turn, he bumped into Drake.

Thomas didn't hesitate. He grabbed his granduncle's shoulders and threw the man to the ground. How was the guy even planning to escape? Thomas raised a fist, then shocking himself, he froze. Could he do this? Could he do this to this frail old man?

Drake's widened eyes contracted with the slightest hint of relief. "Stephen … " he coughed out, "This is why … you remind me why I chose you, Stephen. Too smart, too grounded, to be controlled by your rage for longer than one moment."

Anything remotely close to second thoughts that Thomas had felt, was drained out of him in that moment. He let out an enraged bellow, then crashed his knee on Drake's chest and grabbed him by the throat, not squeezing, but it was probably enough to frighten Drake out of his wits.

"For you, I'll make an exception," Thomas snapped, feeling a line of fury pouring from his eyes and onto Drake. "Now tell me. Tell me what goes on near Meron that makes Bergs crash." He decided it was a good idea to get some answers on the less important stuff.

"I don't … know," Drake croaked out.

Thomas slapped Drake as hard as he could, then let one palm smash his face to the floor on his side. "I might just spare your eyeballs if you answer my question," he threatened.

"Please," Drake begged. "I don't … know … what … that is."

Deciding that Drake probably really didn't know about the Bergs crashing near Meron, Thomas let his right fist fly as his left hand tightened its grip around Drake's throat.

"Please!" Drake cried hopelessly, squirming pointlessly against Thomas's grip. "Please, you can't do this to me! You … not after … everything I've done … for you."

"Oh yeah?" Thomas challenged. "You mean, like electrocuting me and tearing my skin apart? Tormenting my friends? Or forcing me kill people for your enjoyment? Guess what, Drake. I was never on your side. I was an undercover agent. Funny, isn't it?"

"No … " Drake said in disbelief. "I … I really felt bad for you … in the torture chamber. It was like … you were the … only person … I've ever … felt any affection for."

"Hm," Thomas pretended to consider. "Emma Spinoza. Does the name ring any bells, Drake? Did I tell you she was my grandmother? No, Drake, I don't think I did. How'd you kill her, again? Ah, gouge out her eyeballs and set her ablaze, isn't it? Be glad I don't do the same thing to you."

Drake's eyes widened in shock. "No … it can't be … I'm sorry … please … don't do this to … me … please."

"Slim yourself, old man. You're three seconds from a heart attack. Almost literally." Thomas laughed at his own joke.

"Please … I'll let them all … live well enough … I … "

Thomas started punching, completely filtering out the words of the Tunisian monarch. Drake's nose broke, he bled all over, and Thomas let his left hand tighten around the man's throat. Drake let out animalistic sounds, as Thomas pummeled him, his fists raining down with all his might, releasing every ounce of fury he'd ever owned against Drake and his Order.

And then Drake begged, his voice perfectly clear: "Please, Stephen. Make it end. "

And Thomas, for the first time, gladly obeyed, both his hands cupping around Drake's throat as the Tunisian monarch let out one last breath.

Drake Spinoza was dead.

* * *

Footsteps sounded behind Thomas. He spun around, a fist ready at his side, when he realised they were his friends and Clarence. Clipper began photographing the corpse immediately, speaking into the phone. Teresa was by Thomas's side, studying the wounds on his forearm.

Thomas felt dizzy.

Maybe it was the euphoria of the victory.

Maybe it was the blood loss.

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

From somewhere, he heard Teresa's voice: "Tom, you look … "

"I feel … " Thomas started, panicking because he couldn't see anything.

Thomas felt the slight rush of his head and back moving through air, then something touching, or grabbing his head. The last thing Thomas felt was bile building up in his stomach, before the he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness.


	50. Chapter 49

Unconsciousness was, as usual, not the most pleasant experience. Dazzling colours zipped behind his eyelids and his head swayed and then cleared, as he came to. Thomas opened his eyes.

His first reaction was that he must have fallen of his bed at Vaidehi. Then he remembered. Drake. The Order. Their miraculous victory, or so he hoped. He noticed his armour was gone.

Teresa's worried face hovered above his. She let out a relieved sigh as Thomas opened his eyelids fully, then blinked.

"You gave us all a scare," Teresa whispered, soft hands running through Thomas's scalp and cheek. "We thought it had to do something with Clarence's sword. Good Ava Paige."

"Huh?" Thomas asked, confused by the last sentence.

Teresa chuckled lightly. "Just a silly idiom I came up with. Good god. Good Ava Paige. Like … your favourite little … _What the Scorch?_ thing."

Thomas couldn't help but smile to himself.

"You had a bullet in your shoulder," Teresa informed. "Could have told us earlier, you know."

Thomas didn't understand at first, but then he suddenly remembered - fighting with Johannes, the sting in his shoulder. Suddenly, it all seemed like a long time ago. "So it was a bullet."

Teresa stared at him in obvious disbelief. "You _knew_?"

Thomas shook his head, then pulled himself up to sit on the bed. He was obviously in the living room of a Berg. The door swung open, and Minho and Newt barged in, the former trying to twist a rifle the best he could.

"So, what happened?" Thomas asked.

"You had a bullet in your shoulder, you dumbass," Teresa answered.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I meant Drake's lineage and all," he clarified, suddenly feeling anxious and guilty for not having asked about it earlier. "The war. What happened?"

"Oh," Teresa replied, as if expecting him to be more concerned about a bullet to the same shoulder he'd gotten shot in a hundred times.

Before Teresa could continue, Minho was over Thomas, shouting: "Dude, how many times do you need to get shot by a bullet in the shoulder to know that bullets are _bad_ for you?"

Teresa groaned and pushed him away, then turned her attention back to Thomas. "We finished them off. Drake's Lineage, the Order in Tunis, Riyadh, everything. Clipper gave this inspirational speech and all. Someone tried shooting him, but it missed and the crowd lynched the shooter till he was only to be found in drains and people's digestive tracts. You've been out for a couple of hours now. Your Biocopy is managing the logistics of moving the people if they want to, the administration, everything. In case you were wondering, Minho and your Biocopy had their Swipe removed, so they didn't die from the stupid Failsafe."

"It's not stupid!" Thomas protested, deciding in some corner of his mind that he could trust his Biocopy. "It saved the world!"

Teresa shrugged off his comment, then asked: "How did you know about the bullet?"

"Johannes … I think he shot me. Wasn't too painful."

Teresa sighed. "You damaged a sensory nerve. Will take a while to heal, but you'll be perfectly fine, eventually."

Thomas's attention had already wandered to Minho, who seemed hell-bent (Scorch-bent?) on breaking that rifle. Something lied beside Thomas. A syringe!

"Stop that or I'll sedate you!" Thomas yelled, holding up the syringe and aiming it at the older boy.

Teresa looked worried. She reached over Thomas and grabbed the syringe from his hands. "That's probably not a sedative … it was in your pocket."

"Oh." Thomas knew what that was. "Adrenaline. Harvey gave it to me."

"Sure will bloody serve your purpose in putting Minho to rest," Newt muttered.

Thomas's attention had wandered again, this time to Teresa - her face, her hair. "You have pretty hair," he blurted, unable to stop himself.

Teresa groaned and buried her face in her palm.

Newt eyed Thomas in shock, then glanced at Teresa. "What the bloody hell did you give him?"

"Aharon gave him pills," Teresa replied weakly. ". Painkillers, apparently."

Thomas was shocked to hear that. They'd given him _painkillers._ They'd dared give him shuckin' painkillers. He was unable to stop the tears that stung at his eyes. Newt's eyes widened further.

"I hope this isn't like when you're drunk," Teresa muttered. "Remember the time Aris mixed liquor in your ice cream back at WICKED?"

"Aris was just jealous of my superior brain," Thomas muttered. "He wanted to dissolve it with his freaky alcohol."

"The devil's brew," Newt stated cryptically, then shrugged when he found himself on the receiving end of three stares. "At least it's better than Minho when _he's_ drunk. He once had a drinking competition with Gally, then stole all of Frypan's onions. I had to spend two bloody hours convincing him they were not his babies."

Teresa jabbed a thumb at Thomas. "This idiot went crazy after drinking half a glass worth of the stupid thing."

"I advocate for a bloody ban on alcohol," Newt muttered. "What'd ya say, Tommy?"

Thomas, not missing the opportunity to bring up the good old If-by-whiskey argument, started quoting Noah Sweat: "If by whiskey, you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge–"

Teresa slammed a hand on Thomas's mouth. "By whiskey I mean the philosophical ale, that made philosophers go nutso and start wasting public resources on their useless bullshit."

Thomas chuckled from behind her hand.

"Alright, shanks," Newt announced, smirking slightly. "Once this shuckface here is sober enough - not that he's perfectly sane when he is - we'll get this Clarence guy to talk."

That broke all of Thomas's drunkard thoughts. He had to get answers from this Clarence guy.

"What's this?" Teresa asked, stroking the scar around his neck.

"Uh … " Thomas glanced downwards at it, "Drake put this weird metal noose around my neck to … um, electrocute me."

Teresa sighed and kissed his cheek. For some reason, Thomas was reminded of the night they'd shared a week ago, and felt a slight flutter in his chest.

A comforting silence hung around the room.

They had made it.

 **Author's note:**

 **The "If by whiskey you mean..." line is a reference to a hilarious speech by Noah Sweat in the U.S. congress, a common idiom used today to refer to anybody who suffers from severe cognitive dissonance when the same thing is represented in multiple ways.**

 **Three more chapters to go - the last chapter, the epilogue, and a bonus chapter.**

 **There will be further sequels, too - more details will be revealed soon.**


	51. Chapter 50

Much later, Thomas heard Clarence's story. He still had the urge to kick the man in the face, or throw him out of the Berg, but kept the urge under control.

"I am sorry," was the first thing that came out of Clarence's mouth. "I never was with Drake, emotionally. I was bound by a promise."

"A promise?" Minho said in a condescending tone. "Why didn't you just shuckin' break it?"

"I would have if I had made it," Clarence explained. "But it was my father's promise to my mother. To be forever loyal to the throne of Tunisia. That all those who bore his sword would be forever loyal to Tunisia."

Suddenly, it clicked in Thomas. "You're Vincent's son!" he declared. "Hannah's son from her husband, and … Drake's half-brother. And Hannah must have made Vincent promise that … when he would find out about Drake being her brother's son. Because she favoured Drake over you. But … you're supposed to be dead." And the genealogy was too complicated for Thomas.

Clarence nodded. "I'm supposed to be. It was part of the promise. I lived in isolation for years. I'm older than Drake, but not as old as I look. The years of swordfighting practice have aged me."

"So tell us your bloody promise," Newt stated. He wasn't fuming with anger like Minho, but it was clear he wasn't thrilled by the man's presence.

"To remain loyal to the throne of Tunisia," Clarence repeated his earlier words. "As long as the sword remained in my hands. It was a metaphor, but I took the liberty of taking it literally today, now that you snatched it from my hands. My father was skilled at swordfighting, and he trained me. It's difficult for me to believe I was defeated even with all that gas in my lungs."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Then you sleep with your sword, then?" Realising the meaning of what he'd just said, he quickly clarified: "I mean, you said you'd be loyal to Tunisia as long as you held your sword, so did you hold it while asleep?"

"Um … no, but … "

"Forget it," Thomas interrupted, realising this line of discussion wouldn't take anybody anywhere. "Just tell me how the sword works."

Clarence nodded, seemingly relieved. "Hannah worked on the development of this virus that infected and destroyed body cells as fast as it could. It's called the Rotvirus. But she coded into herself another virus, a helpful one that produced a gene to pair with a recessive allele, that would allow for immunity to the Rotvirus, as well as produce the immunising virus. It was passed on to her children, and well … I take it you're a descendant of her yourself."

"That's terribly dangerous," Thomas pointed out. "If the thing mutated and became immune to the immunising virus … "

Clarence shrugged off his comment. "I'm no scientist. I'm a swordsman, boy."

Thomas knew he should absolutely despise Clarence. How could he have ever put loyalty and promise-keeping to this dictator above the lives of people? But all he felt was some disgust. The man looked way too innocent to hate. Nevertheless, the law would go about its course once Clarence was taken to Vaidehi. And all the people he'd killed that very day … anger burned in his veins. He pushed it away before he attacked Clarence.

"Well, we need to destroy whatever storage Drake was using for the virus," Thomas managed. "And the same with the Biocopies."

"We already have," Teresa answered, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Everything was at Riyadh. Drake was stupid enough to replace all their security with Biocopies. We destroyed his facilities."

* * *

Thomas found Clipper in a room, hugging his knees and sitting solemnly. There were no tears, but the sadness was evident. Thomas sat beside him in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm really sorry about Harvey," he managed at last. "I know he was kind of like a father to you."

Clipper looked up at him and forced a smile. "He was, wasn't he?" His smile turned more genuine, then he said: "But I'm glad you survived, nevertheless."

Thomas squeezed Clipper's shoulder. "I wonder if I should have coded the Failsafe differently. Like, you know - make the Biocopies break their coding and rally against Drake, instead of dying."

Clipper rolled his eyes. "Like you could've sneaked _that_ in in any easy way. Plus, it's a little risky to trust that, I 'spect."

Thomas nodded. He still wished they could've saved Harvey. Maybe by giving him a sound neutraliser or something. If only those things weren't banned in Tunis.

* * *

Aharon laid his hands on Thomas's shoulders and squeezed them. "I'm proud of you, boy. And I'm glad that you came out of this safely."

Thomas nodded and managed a smile at the man who was his grandfather.

Aharon glanced at the floor. "Emma had said, _don't_ _fight to avenge someone_ , so I won't tell you that you avenged her for me. But is it really a bad thing if I felt kinda happy looking at Clipper's photo of Drake's mangled corpse?" He winked, and it was the first time Thomas had seen him so happy.

"No," Thomas agreed. "Only a psycho would not want to celebrate every ounce of pain Drake ever receives."

Aharon laughed slightly. "I wouldn't say that. Emma used to love her brother despite it all. I used to hate her for it, but," he coughed lightly, "She's no psycho."

* * *

They landed in Boston, at the former WICKED headquarters, which had since been renovated. Ava personally welcomed them back, looking relieved at seeing them alive and well. Thomas couldn't help but feel pride swell in his chest - a bunch of teenagers had taken down an organisation as powerful as the Order. Tunis had to be managed now, of course, but Thomas decided he could trust his Biocopy on this - they were, after all, identical in every way ever since he had his Swipe removed.

Ava left for a "very important meeting" - Thomas didn't understand. The vaccine distribution was more or less over, and the former WICKED's role in this world was as a ministry of external relations for the Vaidehi Administration. Nevertheless, he didn't question her further about it.

He didn't know whether Aharon and Clipper would stay at Vaidehi, but he sure hoped they did. Thomas also knew he and the others had to go back to the whole world domination routine and all, that he had more or less forgotten about over the months. But right now, he had more personal matters to attend to.

He had to get Clipper to meet Noose.

There were still no transport lines between Vaidehi and the Society, and transport by Berg was probably a little dangerous here, considering that the Society wasn't administrated by the most sane of people. So they had to go by foot.

While Teresa went to question her sister about Noose, Thomas's first stop was Frypan's - they had to get supplies for the trek to the Society. Minho accompanied him - apparently, Brenda was having her afternoon nap that Sunday and he didn't want to wake her up.

The cashier was missing, so Thomas decided to go straight to Frypan's office. Frypan was there, and for some reason, so was Gally. And they were … kissing?

Thomas's eyes widened, and he exchanged a glance with Minho, who was snickering endlessly.

A minute passed. Two. Seeing that neither was planning to break apart from their make-out session, and that they were well on their way to second base, Thomas cleared his throat. Gally and Frypan both froze, then spun around to awkwardly face their visitors.

"I hate to break up this … perhaps rather … enjoyable make-out session of yours," Thomas said, scratching his head, trying to come up with something to say.

"But," Minho continued, "We've been standing here for … how long's it been, New– uh, Thomas?"

"Two minutes," Thomas stated loudly, unable to hold down a smirk.

"Right, two minutes," Minho said, "And we tried to wait and see if you would break apart on your own, but upon seeing your undying love and affection for each other … we decided to do the job ourselves."

Thomas nodded in agreement.

Gally and Frypan were both blushing, their cheeks as red as a tomato and their eyes wide with embarassment.

"Anyway," Thomas said, clapping his hands, "Frypan, your cashier's missing, and we have a big order to place."

"Since … when did you get here?" Gally asked, breaking his oath of silence. Gally and Thomas were on good terms now - rumour had it that Gally was writing a biography of Thomas. Or, more accurately, a novel describing everything that had passed for them all, from Thomas's point of view. Thomas believed the rumours. It was obvious from how Gally kept asking Thomas random things about his life. Plus, Thomas had heard Gally singing in the shower, shouting something like "He began his new life standing up! Surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air!"

"Two minutes ago," Minho answered. "Didn't we tell you already?"

"No," Gally said, "When'd you return? Thought you guys were having fun somewhere in Siberia."

"Slim it shuck-face!" Minho snapped, his face turning red with anger. "We spent two months in the freakin' _Scorch_! We took down a huge dictatorship, Thomas here worked undercover and had to execute innocent people to prove his dedication to Drake, and me - I got killed and had to be reborn!"

Gally was listening to Minho's words with great interest - of course. It was probably useful for the little novel he was writing.

* * *

Brenda caught up with Minho soon after they left Frypan's, the two exchanging kisses that put Gally and Frypan's make-out session to shame. Thomas didn't know if Brenda knew about Minho's death and rebirth, but he decided he wouldn't be the one to tell her. Minho would have to do it himself.

Teresa called for a Gathering. Apparently, she felt the need for a 'pep-talk', but Thomas thought it was anything but.

"This is the _last time_ we're sending any of the Keepers on a war like this," Teresa stated firmly. "Do you _get_ me?"

"We would've been doomed if we hadn't done this," Thomas pointed out. "We don't have an intelligence agency or something, which means we have to resort to things like this."

Teresa glared at him. "And why would we want to send the Keepers on this? Vaidehi is in a very primitive stage, and this is _dangerous_."

Thomas shrugged. "Whom else can we trust? In the long run, we'll have an intelligence agency of some kind. The couple of us here are toughened by the Trials and stuff."

"Besides, remember what Tommy had said when quelling the protests?" Newt added, referring to the protests for a democracy from a few months ago. "We don't have the respected institutions yet to set up a democracy and stuff."

"Seriously?" Teresa interrupted, looking way more angry than was probably necessary or expected in the situation. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"His point is we aren't a normal nation yet," Thomas said, trying his best to defend Newt, who appeared to be on his side. "We can't function like one, either. Anyway, we need to go to the Society. People are waiting."

Teresa glared at him once more. "This is not done," she said through gritted teeth. Thomas just shrugged.

* * *

A stodgy boy greeted them at the doors to the administrative hub. No, not any stodgy boy.

"Chuck?" Thomas asked, baffled.

This wasn't the cute, pudgy Chuck they'd known. This Chuck was lean and well-built, with thickly muscled arms and legs. How many months had passed, again?

"Can I accompany you?" Chuck asked, his somewhat deep voice sounding almost foreign to Thomas's ears. "To the Society?"

"Uh-huh."

* * *

The trek to the Society took four days. The temperatures were colder this time, now that it was Autumn. Thomas's mood dropped when he realised winter would arrive soon. The first Antarctic winter had been fun for half the first week, snowball-fighting and doing other childish activities, but he'd soon grown to detest the cold and dryness.

"I'll contact her telepathically," Clipper suggested, his voice laced with excitement, as soon as they were close enough to the Society. Like getting Clipper and Noose to meet was their only reason to visit this place. Like dissolving the Council and getting people to move to Vaidehi wasn't part of their agenda at all.

Seconds later, two figures emerged from the shack that housed the Society. One was a young girl Clipper's age with golden locks, dressed in a gown that seemed appropriate for a Christian wedding. The other was a young dark-haired, freckle-skinned man who looked awfully familiar … Thomas had seen this guy. Through the Beetle Blades.

"Bloody … " Newt breathed. "It's … "

"It's shuckin' Nick," Minho muttered, looking like he was at a loss for words.

Ava had sent him here? This was where all the Gladers who'd fallen off the Cliff were sent? Ava hadn't told them about it? Thomas had wondered about it in the past, but never asked Ava. He mentally slapped himself for it.

The two kids reached them within moments. Nick seemed completely unsurprised by the presence of Newt and Minho. He just clapped them on the backs and said: "Not quite how I'd thought we'd meet, huh?"

Minho and Newt looked completely at a loss for words. Bennett and Sarah were already in an animated discussion, Sarah saying something about Nick being her 'adopted brother', how she'd missed Clipper, and how glad she was to see him alive.

When Newt finally spoke, all he said was one word - "Nick." Completely stupid-sounding, really.

Minho nudged Newt in the side. "Your girlfriend betrayed us. She never told us Nick was here."

"She said people from different family units weren't allowed to meet each other," Newt answered, defending Teresa's sister. "Except the Council and stuff. And you said Stephen pushed him off the Cliff!" Thomas was oddly reminded that Stephen was his fake name when working for the Order.

"He did!" Minho protested. Thomas nodded in confirmation.

"Sarah here told me her telepathic boyfriend Bennett was with some shanks called Minho and Newt," Nick said, smirking as he spoke. "Figured no one else would have a name like Newt, huh?"

Newt grumbled something in response, Clipper protested something about the word 'boyfriend', before Nick engulfed his friends in a bear hug. They filled Nick in on what had happened after he'd left the Glade, and vice versa.

Minho's stomach growled audibly.


	52. Epilogue

**Author's note:**

 **I thought the last line of the previous chapter might need some explanation. It's a jab at James Dashner on how he ended The Eye of Minds in The Mortality Doctrine series ("Michael was hungry"), as a metaphor for the Swipe-less Biocopy being human.**

 **(SPOILER FOR THE EYE OF MINDS IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT)**

 **Dashner's point was to show how similar Tangents are to humans. Michael was hungry very often in the book when he was a Tangent thinking himself to be a human, and now he feels a very different hunger - real hunger, that could actually kill him.**

 **The same thing holds for Minho once being a Biocopy.**

 **EPILOGUE**

Seven months later marked the birth of Brenjaminda Brenho.

His first response upon taking the newborn out of the incubator was to jerk the cradle _slightly_ , almost throwing the poor thing up in the air. "Look, we made a _baby_!"

Brenda grabbed the cradle from him, holding it to her side, her eyes wide in shock. "You will not touch my baby!"

"It's my baby too!" Minho protested, feeling a rush of indignance flow through him. How dare she try deny him that right? "I am the father of Shuckface Brenho!"

Brenda's eyes widened, then flared with anger. "What did you call whom?"

"Yes!" Minho yelled. "I christine our baby Shuckface Brenho!"

"No _shuckin'_ way," Brenda said, her face turning red with anger. "I will not agree to that."

"But shuckfaces are so cool!" Minho whined like a little toddler. "I want my baby to be named Shuckface!"

"No!" Brenda practically screamed. "Minho, you've gone nuts! Imagine how poor Benjamin would be treated at school if he were named that."

"Benjamin?" Minho asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Who the shuck was this Benjamin, and why did Minho have to care how he was treated at school. This was _his_ kid, for shuck's sake, not that of some shank named _Benjamin_.

Brenda's eyes lit up after a short period of wide-eyed staring and thinking. "Yes! Benjamin! That's a nice name!"

"No shuckin' way!" Minho snapped, "And who _is_ this shuck Benjamin?"

"Our baby!" Brenda squealed. "That's what we'll name him. That's what I've thought of him as since day one!"

So that's what Brenda had meant about 'Benjamin' being treated at school. "Day one of what? Of our relationship, of our first night, of conception, of–"

"Oh, shut up!" Brenda snapped, slapping him playfully across the face, seemingly unable to control her blush the moment Minho mentioned their _first night_. "Listen to me. Benjamin's a great name, and I'm naming him that."

"Like hell you are!" How dare she? Behaving all high and mighty like she were Benjamin's only parent. Wait, had he just thought of this kid as Benjamin? No! This kid was … Brenho! Shuckface! Shuckface Brenho!

"It's a nice name," Brenda said like that were the best argument she could come up with. Which it probably was.

"It's shuckin' clichéd."

"What're you two arguing about?" Minho looked up to see Thomas walking towards them. And Teresa.

"Naming our baby!" Brenda said, turning around to face them. "This shucking shuckface over here wants to shuckin' name this shucking baby shuckin' Shucking Shuckface!"

Thomas looked more confused than he'd been when he'd climbed out of the Box.

"By shucking baby, she meant teat-shucking baby," Minho clarified, probably rather unhelpfully. He decided to be a little more helpful. "I want to name it Benj– I mean, Shuckface." What was _wrong_ with him? He didn't want to name it Benjamin! "She wants to name it _Benjamin_."

Thomas and Teresa both seemed to consider that for a moment.

"Shuckface is obviously a stupid name," Teresa said. Brenda sighed in relief.

"I mean, it's cool and all that," Thomas added, earning a glare from Teresa - one that said, _you're not going to name_ our _baby that_. "But it's probably going to make life miserable for him."

Brenda turned around to face Minho with a look that said, _See?_ Minho was about to say something when Thomas's head perked up like he'd just found a solution to one of the world's greatest problems. Which, to Minho, included current problem they were facing.

"Brenjamin!" Thomas yelled, an annoying dorky grin on his face. "Contains both _Bren_ and _Min_. See?"

Before Minho could process that, Teresa was at Brenda's side, analysing the baby. She looked up with a look of disgust on her face. "Guys, seriously?" She glared at Minho, then at Brenda. "It's a _girl_."

Wait, what? Despite it all, the first thought that came to Minho's mind was: " _Then Benjamin is out! It's the gender-neutral Shuckface! Shuckface for life!_ "

He left an awkward silence upon voicing his thoughts.

"Brenjaminda," Brenda decided, a sudden authority filling her voice.

"But … " Minho started to protest, but Brenjaminda cut him off by crying for the second time since being born. Ugh, what was with babies and crying? Wait … did he just think of the baby as Brenjaminda?

"But that means you have both your _Bren_ and your _Da_ in the baby's first name!" Minho protested. "I only have my _Min_ , not my all-powerful _Ho_!"

Brenda shrugged. "Well, the _Da_ only came in because she was my gender. If we have another kid, who happens to be male, we can name her Brenjaminho."

"Her?" Teresa asked, but cut herself off when an enraged yell sounded from outside the hospital. Thomas was outside, being chased by a wild rhinoceros. Only Thomas could manage that. First, find a wild rhinocerous in this place; second, get chased by it through the city; and third, not freak out completely.

Nevertheless, Minho's thoughts kept going back to Brenda's words.

 _Another kid?_ he thought.

 **Author's note:**

 **I'm sorry. I simply _had_ to make that sound outright ridiculous.**

 **By the way, I have a bonus chapter left. Guess whose POV it's going to be in?**

* * *

 **Sequel: The Flare Cure [s/11667734]**


	53. Bonus Chapter

**Author's note:**

 **:thegirlwithrainboweyes – Ah, didn't think anyone would notice that… regarding Minho and Brenda's patch-up, it'll be in the sequel. The reason I couldn't put it in with this story is that I wanted to stick to a very specific set of POVs, and Thomas/Teresa POV won't do justice to the Minho/Brenda patch-up. The very first chapter of The Flare Cure, I promise.  
**

 **Be warned, this chapter might be slightly depressing, especially towards the end.**

 **Note that this is in the POV of Thomas's BIOCOPY, not Thomas himself.**

Copy BI7-7762.1.

That was his name. His identity. A Biocopy of Stephen McVoy, the Order's latest Lead Tech. Like with BI6-6893.1, the Biocopy of the previous Lead Tech Harvey Maldoon, the Order had been unable to maintain several intellectual traits of the Biocopy. Apparently, both of them had certain genetic mutations that the Order's Biocopy technique was unable to preserve.

It made him feel a little inferior to the real Stephen McVoy.

But there were other traits that made him feel much superior to the real Stephen McVoy. As loyal as Stephen might be to the Order, his loyalty wasn't infallible. BI7-7762.1, on the other hand, would be loyal to the Draconian Order as long as the Swipe remained intact in his brain.

It made him proud. Loyalty, the most important personality trait of any person. Loyalty to Drake. Hearing the name of the Tunisian monarch would make BI7-7762.1's chest swell up with pride. The loyalty, the affection BI7-7762.1 felt for Drake, was absolutely unmatched in magnitude by any other emotion he felt.

A photograph of Drake would raise such respect in BI7-7762.1's chest that put to shame even the loyalty and respect felt by the Orwellian characters to their Big Brother.

Respect. The sole emotion that BI7-7762.1 felt so strongly. And deep within him was a need to fulfil this desire, to quench his thirst to serve the Order.

Without destroying himself.

He would take as much torture as would be cast upon him, torture that could tear his mind and body apart, torture that could destroy the most nerve-rich regions of his body. But he wouldn't die. He couldn't let himself die. He was more staunch on this than he was on the fact that the sun rose in the East daily. He was more staunch on this than the fact that humans needed water. He was even more staunch on this than his respect and loyalty for the Order.

He'd heard that the first Gen-6 Biocopies had been too afraid to reveal this weakness - a weakness of which he was not proud, but was staunch - afraid that the Order would dispose them off. Fear. He felt pride swell in his chest at the thought of someone fearing the Order. The mighty, powerful Order.

He should've known that would be the day that his loyalties would change.

"Tom!" the prisoner cried, "Don't do this to me!"

The first thing he felt was anger. How dare she?

But BI7-7762.1 made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Those tear-glazed eyes of … no, not the prisoner. Teresa's eyes. Shame and anger coursed through him. How could he think of a prisoner that way?

But her words kept echoing in his head. When had that last occurred? In the Scorch. He'd always remembered all that. Remembered the past life of Stephen McVoy. But now … it suddenly felt a lot more _real_. He suddenly understood the weight of it.

She'd dragged him through the Scorch, betrayed him. Anger coursed through him. Two angers battled for dominance in him - anger at himself for losing his loyalty to the Order, and anger at Teresa, for having betrayed him.

But he knew he _shouldn't_ feel angry. The source of the thought confused him. To muddle his mind further, he was no longer sure how he should feel about the fact that he was breaking through his coding. Ashamed! No, proud! And why shouldn't he be angry at Teresa? _Prisoner, prisoner … No, Teresa._

Because she'd done it to save him. That shocked him for some reason, and confused him more, and thus widened the sphere of memories of which he understood the weight. Suddenly, he no longer felt the loyalty for the Order that he used to just moments ago. He thought he should probably feel guilty about it, ashamed, but he didn't. Instead, shockingly, he was proud.

But the pride was fleeting, and soon taken over by guilt. Guilt, both over the fact that he'd once taken so long to 'forgive' Teresa, and because … how could he ever have thought that what the Order was doing was justified? This applied to the real Stephen McVoy, too. The guilt gnawed at his insides.

Working against his coding made the deep insides of his head throb, made him feel dizzy and sick in the head. In some corner of his mind, he knew it was because of the Swipe.

Until he started helping Teresa.

Suddenly, the pain disappeared, and he felt like he could no longer be constrained by any such coding.

BI7-7762.1 felt invincible.

 _Thomas_ felt invincible.

Things changed further when they removed his Swipe - he started feeling romantic love for Teresa again. He recalled all the times they'd shared - working for WICKED, the Trials, her almost trading her life for his, working to build Vaidehi, getting captured by the Right Arm … All the things they'd gone through.

Thomas cared for her, wanted to be with her again, wanted to kiss her and touch her. But it wasn't right - Teresa deserved the other Thomas. The real Thomas. They were same in every other way except that genetic mutation he didn't understand - and Teresa deserved the smarter, more intelligent Thomas, holding everything else the same. She didn't seem to notice his feelings at all. And somehow, she didn't seem to feel the same way about him.

Thomas let her go.

 **Author's note:**

 **Sequel: The Flare Cure [s/11667734]**


End file.
